


She is Omega

by angelic1_hp



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, POV First Person, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 89,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelic1_hp/pseuds/angelic1_hp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After taking Omega back and getting *that* kiss from Aria, Shepard returns to the Normandy. But her already-strained relationship with Liara threatens to hit a breaking point when Aria comes back to the Citadel. An examination of the love Shepard always wanted, and the passion she never thought would ever be.</p><p>Set during ME3 – Vanguard Paragon, with Renegade Omega DLC – War Hero/Spacer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Careful Warning

 

**1 – A Careful Warning**

 

“A vanity exercise for the sole benefit of a tyrannical megalomaniac is all this amounts to, Shepard. I would love an explanation to why this is more important than getting to the migrant fleet and securing alliances from those with something to give.”

“C'mon Liara, are you seriously saying you can't see how kicking Cerberus out the Terminus systems doesn't help the war?”

“You already have her array of her thugs going to war for you. I don't see what else she can offer. Certainly nothing that's worth your life.”

 “Woah – since when I am dying on this mission?”

 “Omega's been the haven for pirates and mercs and the centre of anti-Citadel space for centuries. It's had to be well defended. And Goddess knows what Reaper tech upgrades Cerberus have incorporated.”

 “If the Goddess doesn't know, I'm hoping the Broker might...”

 The stare that would wilt Haestrom's sun. She's so completely unimpressed with my crude attempt at subterfuge. She grabs her datapad, stabbing at it with her barely contained annoyance.

“Do you think I would have let you leave without given you anything I could to help you? You don't need to manipulate me Shepard.”

“I know, but I mostly just like you seeing right through me.”

She smiles a little. I know I can always get her to smile a little, no matter how mad she is at me. She's a sucker for my charming wit and I'm a sucker for doing anything to get even the merest hint of a smile.

She drops the smile quickly: back to business and trying to work herself back into being furious.

“I've sent you the schematics one of my contacts sent a few weeks ago. Incomplete, but might help,” she says briskly, still avoiding my gaze.

She slides the pad back on her desk. “I'll tell you who else I can see through.”

Here it comes.

“Aria T'Loak.” she says triumphantly. “She's got plans for you. Why else wouldn't she let your crew come with you?”

“She's got a lotta tricks and she'll need to rely on most of them to get control of Omega. I imagine she'd rather not give away her secrets with Archangel behind her.”

“Garrus I can understand – but James, or I could back you up instead.”

“She'll see Vega as the meathead and she won't respect it. And you – well, you, she's just plain jealous of,” I tease.

That was mean of me. I know it instantly. She doesn't deserve that. Finding her on Mars has been the best day since finding a wide-eyed, terrified but defiant Asari trapped in a stasis field on Therum.

Having her back on the Normandy has brought me alive and steadied my aim. I find any occasion to come and see her, amid her piles of tech and field reports, in an almost calmly hostile platonic atmosphere. I knew I'd get nothing but a fight telling her about Aria and Omega, but I couldn't not come before going into the field.

To her credit, she doesn't rise to my cruelty.

“Nothing about this feels right, Shepard,” she exhales.

“There's a helluva lot of people on Omega. Regardless if they help the war or not. Cerberus has a stranglehold that hurts us. God knows what they're doing to those people when we've seen what they're doing to their own soldiers. Omega today, cannon fodder tomorrow.”

“Reinstating Aria as dictator hardly helps them.”

“Better the devil you know,” I shrug. “Actually, I know both devils. And one is definitely worse than the other.”

“Aria T'Loak can't be trusted,” she says, almost sulkily.

“Not with small children or...?”

“Aria's not... indifferent to you,” she says carefully.

“I know, she just called me the best,” I grin. “Nice that someone thinks highly of my battle prowess and ability to not die.”

“I sincerely hope you're not playing a game with me for your own amusement, Shepard!” Liara snaps.

Uh-oh. We have nostril flare, eye twitch and the slightest biotic glow. I don't mind acting dumb, as long as I know the punchline. Instead, I might be about to get punched.

“She has a liking to you. She's drawn to those whose power equals her own. It attracts and threatens her.”

“I have no idea where you're pulling this from..."

“I'm a very good information broker,” she says, calmly, looking up at her screens, all automatically swivelled to her attention. “Aria has a tendency to change people, change worlds to suit her. She'll bring out the worst in you.”

“You know what I think, Liara?” I say, standing up and ready to end this argument.

“What's that?”

“I think you know this is a worthy operation for the gain – for the people of Omega, for resources for the war, for giving Cerberus a serious knockdown. You think there's no more tactical risk in this mission than any other we've been facing lately.”

I'll take her wordless, motionless response as agreement.

“I think that you are hopelessly and insanely jealous of me being with Aria unsupervised. That she'll corrupt me and then the aphrodisiac of power will send me into her lustful, waiting arms.”

She squirms. I've got her.

God, I'm being cruel again.

(Is it so terrible that I just want a reaction, just to know if she...?)

“You and I... are just friends,” she says, sadness penetrating through her steady disposition. Makes me feel like the Worst Damn Person in the cosmos.

What was I thinking? All these months, side by side with her – in what could be our last months – not touching, not holding, not loving (at least not aloud).

I was thinking that I was angry with her. I _am_ angry with her.

That the night before the Omega-4 relay was the worst I've ever felt. I felt I was going to die. And I didn't want her to come with me so she would too. I wanted her with me, because I knew no power in the universe would stop me from keeping her alive. I always know I'll make it back if she's with me.

Yes, I was weak and lonely, stupid and self-flagellating. I was shell of the person I needed to be to see my team through. It was my moment of fallibility.

But to feel that she didn't believe in me and couldn't be with me when I felt I needed her most - even after being in her embrace once again, after taking the Shadow Broker...

It ruined me that night before the relay. Only in the day, looking at the people whose lives I held at my command did I find my strength and resolve.

After Mars, it could have been so easy to forgive. Forget. Love. Hold. Have. She asked me about us. She always asks. She never tells me. She never takes me. She always just seems like she wants to make it easy for either of us to slip away gracefully. That we don't really matter. That her passion for me doesn't drive her, whereas mine charges through walls for her.

She didn't love me enough. That's how it felt. And at the beginning of all of this, I gave her what it looked like she wanted, and let her off the hook.

But these months... I've rarely been away from her, on the Normandy or in the field. I'm addicted to her. And it feels reciprocated, albeit in her careful, careful way.

And if I'm imagining the tension compounding the chemistry, to bring everything to just sub-meltdown levels of reaction – just fizzling under the surface - then I'm probably mentally ill.

But I still keep her just out of touch. Because she never reaches out to grab me.

Not once.

“And I am honoured to serve at your side, Shepard,” Liara continues. “I can't stop you from going. Just – Please - Be careful. Don't let Omega change you. Don't let your guard down. And don't let Aria fool you.”

I'm already a fool.

 


	2. Renegade Kiss

**2 – Renegade Kiss**

 

 

“I never thought I'd like having a partner, Shepard.”

It's almost bemusing how awkward gratitude is for her. For three days we've torn Cerberus apart and clawed back this station inch by inch.

I see her surreptitiously shooting me an awkward side glance, looking me up and down with a strange gleam in her eye. What is she doing?

Making me nervous, is what. Is this the double-cross? Was Liara right?

I kept my promise, in spite of my own code. I let her kill Petrovsky as slowly and cruelly as she liked.

Couldn't risk her favour after everything that's happened the past few days. Knowing her, she'd have sent me off with a pocketful of eezo, a couple of halfcut fighter pilots and a bunch of asari dancers playing at commando's for not keeping my word.

All of this has to be worth more than that.

I played by her rules. I got Omega back. She knows better than to make an enemy of me, so she's making sure the first shot's lethal or else--

Sudden movement to--

Oh.

Fuck.

(Liara was right.)

Aria grabs my shoulders, pressing her biotic glowing body hard against me; while her lips, soft and warm, embrace mine. The kiss, frighteningly delicate at first for such a fierce figure, soon transforms into a hungry beast. The kind of kiss you give when you want inside someone's skin.

Then she pulls us apart. Not difficult. I'm basically her own personal rag doll at this point, still submerged in the sensation of the kiss.

She turns to greet her victorious crowd. To bask in the adoration of criminals and the underclass. To sound Omega's battlecry for the war and any who might take her. To proclaim her everlasting and impenetrable rule once more.

And I'm just hoping my legs keep working all the way back to the shuttle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Hope you are enjoying so far. I do have quite a bit written and planned of this story. Pretty excited to get to the end – one way or the other... 
> 
> It's been some time since I've written (more accurately published) fanfiction. Thoroughly enjoying the experience of writing fanfic again with a new fandom (one which I have loved for a very long time) but as always, I am eager to hear your thoughts and feedback in any form, or of any nature you may desire...
> 
> And apologies, this chapter was a bit short, but I felt it stood on it's on. They should be a decent length from here on...


	3. Mild Burn

**3 – Mild Burn**

 

 

“How was Omega?”

Exactly three minutes back on the Normandy. That's all. I've limped in, went straight up to my cabin to peel off my armour and she's at the door.

Don't know how she got the elevator to move so fast.

“It was fine, Liara,” I tell her, pulling off my breastplate with a whimper. “Nothing to worry about. See – barely a scratch on me.”

“That's not what it looks like to me!” she gasps, coming closer with haste.

She's not wrong. My torso is marred by some particularly nasty looking burns. Always neglected to get the hell away from the Rampart mechs once they're on the floor. Their dying flares hurt like a bitch and don't play nicely with medigel.

Her outstretched fingers barely graze me before I shrink away.

“Well, no puncture wounds at least.”

“I'll get Dr. Chakwas up to see you,” Liara says, moving to the intercom.

“She's not there. She's at Huerta, favour to Dr. Michel. I told her there was no point her being on the Normandy when I'm not.”

Taking off my gauntlets and shoulder plates didn't prove as bad as the torso. But I can tell from the stinging on my thighs (that has gone from painful to hellish between Omega and here) that removing my leg plates and greaves is going to reveal a world of hurt.

“Oh.”

“How did you not 'not' see her? She's right across the deck from you, big open windows and all.”

“I haven't left my cabin,” she admits reluctantly.

“Glued to the feeds?” I ask dryly, sitting down to pry off my greaves.

“Shepard, I really think we should get you to the Citadel. Or I'll call Karin back here.”

First tug at the leg plate proves too painful. She comes to kneel in front of me, batting my hands away as she examines it.

“It's fine, Liara. Probably just needs some salve to make it hurt worse to let the medigel take to it.”

“Really Shepard, that sounds like an awful plan. Are you a Doctor?” she challenges, mildly annoyed, as she gently works the edges of the leg armour.

“No.”

“Well I am.”

“Of Archaeology,” I shoot back, as she manages to unsheathe one leg with only a high-pitched whelp from me.

“That may be, but I'm also a lot older than you.”

“And I've had a lot more war wounds than you,” I say.

“Only because I don't let myself get shot as much as you do,” she says softly. “I honestly think you must enjoy it in some fashion.”

“That's me, mistress of pain,” I say through gritted teeth as she delicately removes the other greave.

“Let me help,” she implores, her hand hovering over a particularly bad area on my thigh. “It will be easier if I do it.”

With just a little thought to the consequence of extended conversation, (mostly Aria's kiss still fresh in my mind to skirt around) I nod.

“Good. I'll go to the Med-Bay at once.”

I flop back on the bed as she leaves. Barely decent in only underwear, it hits me how that failed to fluster her.

She knows my body. She's been very intimate with my body. But I know it's the only one she has been with. At least up until Hagalaz. Anything could of happened while I sat around on Earth waiting for my punishment for going off book to save us from the Collectors.

She'd always been so shy and unsure until I threw myself at her. To be so nonplussed about something I know she considers intimate is bizarre.

She must have been so lonely aboard that hell-hole of ship. Or maybe so consumed in her work that stopped her from being with me through the Omega-4 relay that she never stopped to think about the living contact she was missing. Maybe she grew numb to needs and doesn't notice a half naked person in front of her anymore. Having said that, she didn't need to leave the ship for comfort while Feron was there...

She could've gotten close to Feron--

Nope. Stop that thought right now. I know Feron's a good drell. I know he's a huge part of the reason why I'm breathing today. But I cannot help but irrationally hate that guy. Because the thought of Liara with him--

No - Stop. It.

I'm not saying she should be struggling to control herself as I lie in my underwear, but it would seem that any spark of attraction or deep desire to be with me isn't there.

But she is so very good at hiding things.

Luckily, my thoughts are interrupted by the incessant beep of my terminal. I pull myself off the bed and amble up to my desk.

New email.. and from whom, I wonder...

 

_From: Aria T'Loak_

_Subject: A memento_  

_Shepard,_

_Sent you a little souvenir of our adventures on Omega, Shepard. Fittingly enough, the king sustained a crack._

_Aria_

 

Seeing that name instantly brings back a near-drell memory of the kiss. Every snapshot of the moment in glorious and blood draining detail.

Makes me feel a little bit dangerous, a little bit wanted and more than a little bit curious.

Some of that must be reciprocated over the extranet, as another email has just pinged into existence, sent only minutes after that one.

 

_From: Aria T'Loak_

_Subject: A better memento_

_Shepard,_

_If a boring chess set doesn't do it for you, I'll be back on the Citadel in a few days, sitting in the worst club in the galaxy. Come by if you want to make it more interesting._

_Aria._

 

I won't lie, my heart is pounding a little faster. I look back at the door, expecting Liara to be back with the salve: watching me, reading everything over my shoulder and then just knowing what I'm thinking from the look in my eyes and my slightly sweaty disposition.

I feel like I'm betraying her. Like I'm cheating on her.

I think I know why I feel that way, but it's not doing any good to dwell on it at the end of the universe.

Hard shutdown on the terminal to be sure it's gone, and into the bathroom to splash some water on my face.

The intercom sounds:

“Yeah?”

“Commander – I've just gotten an alert that your personal terminal is offline. Is everything all right?”

“It's fine, Traynor, thanks,” I shout through, over the sound of running water.

I can hear the cabin door swishing open.

Given Traynor's talking to me, must be Liara.

“Are you OK, Commander? I wanted to check on your condition once you'd settled back in. You seemed to be in a bit of discomfort coming through the CIC. Shall I alert Dr. Chakwas you're back on board?”

“Thank you, Specialist Traynor, but I have the Commander's treatment in hand up here,” Liara says smoothly, coming closer to the intercom. She turns to see me in the bathroom.

“Oh. Dr. T'Soni. OK. Well. Right, that's fine. Commander do you need anything else?”

“Just keep me posted via intercom on anything I need to know. I'll sort out the other thing later,” I say, rubbing a towel over my face.

Ensuring the intercom is off, I look up to see Liara preparing the bed as my treatment station.

“That was a little mean, y'know,” I tell her.

Setting out clean towels and pads, she gives me a blank expression. “How so, Shepard?”

Ah. It's only mean from the perspective of my ex-girlfriend playing one-up on my comm's specialist who I'm sort of sleeping with – if the ex-girlfriend knows. But I don't think she does. She shouldn't. Samantha and I agreed to remain strictly private about our mutual convenience, mostly for the sake of the ex-girlfriend on board.

I look at her face. I'm not convinced she doesn't know, but she's hiding any feelings very well.

“Just your tone. She's... sensitive. She's British,” I shrug.

“I'll bear that in mind,” she says, casting a large towel over the top of my bed and beckoning me to lie down.

I oblige her, gingerly laying myself flat out, and closing my eyes.

“Now, let me know if the discomfort is too much to bear,” Liara says gently.

I sigh in response. _With you on my skin and Aria on my lips, it already is._

 


	4. You Only Live Twice

**4 – You Only Live Twice**

 

 

Since deciding to accept Aria's confusing and subtext-laden invitation to Purgatory, I've turned back at least five times:

One: When I saw Liara retreat back to her office from inside the Med-Bay. Chakwas was giving me some very important instructions about a med supplies trade. That I do not remember now.

Two: When I got dressed in the only piece of evening wear I owned. I looked in the mirror. I was ridiculous.

Three: Changed into my armour. Made it all the way to the docking bay. Decided it was more ridiculous to go to a club in full armour.

Four: Running back to change into my Navy officers uniform. Felt better. Saw Traynor in the CIC on my way back. She looked suspicious.

Five: Through the lobby of Purgatory. Looked around at Alliance, Turian and Salarian soldiers drinking to forget. Should I be contemplating doing this when we're out there dying? Shouldn't I be the example they all expect me to be?

_Almost_ turned back. None of this stopped me.

The beat of the club rattles my teeth from the moment I step inside. Glad I didn't wear the dress. Or the armour. My uniform has a nice sturdy middle-ground. Supportive but flattering. Dressy but formal.

And now Six: Looking over at the couch Aria occupies. Like she never left. Like we weren't fighting side by side last week to retake Omega. Like she had never stood on that balcony, murdered the general, kissed me and proclaimed Omega's rise once more. Like she'd been here the whole time. And I'm delusional about any subtext there may have been.

I am delusional.

But it's too late to run now, as she nods to me.

“Aria,” I greet her, not really sure what to do, so I end up just standing awkwardly.

“Shepard,” she says, with a half-smile. “Glad the wife let you out for the evening.”

“Wife?” I echo. I don't know what's going on, and now I wish I had my armour on.

“You know the one,” she says coyly.

“We're not... We're friends. And we were never...”

“Well I know that, Shepard,” she says, her tone going from playful to bored. “Clearly being facetious. If I really thought that, I wouldn't refer to it in your anthropocentric patriarchal bullshit vernacular.”

Sounds like someone I know.

But Aria, playing games with me. I think I read her email wrong. I think I read the kiss wrong. I think all of this is wrong. Yes. Definitely need my armour.

She leans forward and gently pats my usual position on the sofa. “But pleased you're so keen for me to know you're not involved.”

I ease onto it as if there may be a landmine on it. Not that gently lowering myself would help that situation. God I wish there was a landmine. Or merely a concussive grenade.

“So, what've you got for me?” All-business Shep, that's what you get from me.

“Got for you?” she repeats.

“Is it more merc's? Cause I can always take time out of galactic politicking involving billions of innocent lives to recruit literally tens of hundreds of criminals for hire,” I say like I don't give a shit. This attitude is helping to replace the armour.

“My, what a lovely white hat you're wearing tonight, Commander. I thought you'd lost it on Omega,” she says, as sweetly as Aria gets. She's winding me up, to let me go.

“I play to the venue.” If I had my gun, I'd shoot me.

“I think it's play to the audience, Shepard,” she says, laughing dismissively.

I won't lie. I feel like a bit of an idiot. I feel more like Conrad Verner, than myself.

She notes the hole I've dug myself into, and throws me a bone.

“Let's start again, Commander,” Aria decides, snapping her fingers to the human waitress that stands solely for her needs. “Two Noverian rum.”

“I-I'm sorry, Ms T'Loak, but we don't sell that.”

“I know you don't,” she sighs. “But I just keep lusting after things I can't have. Two Elasa's for the Commander and I.”

The waitress starts to half-walk, half-canter away when Aria shouts after her: “And what the fuck is a 'Ms'?”

The girl doesn't respond; keeps on course to the bar. Wise choice.

Aria turns to me, still aggravated. “Shepard, what the fuck is a 'Ms'?”

“It's a human title, to show your status, though it has a lot more to do with 'bullshit marriage'. Think like Maiden, Matron, Matriarch.”

“And so which one is it?”

“Like Matron. Unmarried woman, too old to be a miss, or who doesn't want to be a missus.”

“And what are your male equivalents?"

“Mr.”

“And?”

“That's it.”

“Goddess, your culture is so bullshit,” she snorts.

“Won't argue,” I nod, giving a little laugh. It relaxes me.

The waitress is back in impressive time from mixing two cocktails. As she sets them down, Aria looks intently at her.

“I now know what the fuck a Ms is, and I do not like it. I don't like any of your brainwashing, dual-gendered, misogynist bullshit,” she says, malice surprisingly absent from her voice. “So it's Aria. OK?”

“OK,” the girl nods nervously. “Aria.”

“OK. Thank you,” Aria says pleasantly. I can't help wonder if that's for my benefit. “You can leave.”

Drinking the cocktail, I do feel more relaxed. Mostly as the potency sneakily hits you on your fourth or fifth sip.

The silence feels tense but less awkward. But that isn't good enough for Aria as she turns to me, grabbing my wrist...

“Shepard – I'll be blunt. Because as fun as toying with you is, you're an anomaly and I can't really predict your actions as well as I'd like,” she says in quick and clipped tones. “I don't play games when I'm not sure that I'll win.”

“OK...”

“I have an apartment on the Citadel. Kithoi Ward, sector two, apartment zero five. That's where this night is going to reach it's climax. You know it's why you came,” she says, so low I can feel the bass of her words better than I hear them.

“Yeah... OK...” I mumble. “I have to go to the bathroom. First. I'll be.. right back.”

My exit is so swift I don't even see her reaction. I stand in the lobby, looking between the bathroom, to splash some water on my face and go back; or the door, to end this before it starts.

But the enraged voice booming behind me makes the decision for me:

“No, no, you don't Shepard!”

I spin around and Aria's marching towards me. With one arm on my shoulder, she pushes me towards the bathroom.

“Everybody out – NOW!” she yells, her biotic power demonstrable in her fists. The attendants, the queue of women waiting and even those in stalls flee within moments.

She turns her wrath to me, backed against a wall where she placed me.

“You don't run out on me like a coward on a blind date – You know who I am,” she seethes. “You wanna reject me – fine – but you do it to my face or I will hunt you down.”

I can't speak. I can't move. My fight or flight instinct should be kicking in any time soon. No problem if there's endless waves of Batarians coming at you. But one self-proclaimed Asari queen...

“C'mon Commander – I thought you were _brave_ ,” she taunts. “Hero of the Citadel. Vanquisher of Reapers. Where's all that--”

I s nap. I decide _. To hell with it –_ _you only live twice._

I grab her face and turn all of her  indignant  fury into a passionate, aggressive kiss.

Doesn't take her long to respond. She grabs the back of my head, insuring we can't be parted as she shoves us through a stall door and has me up against the wall.

With a swift, slicing movement, Aria pulls open the panels of my dress jacket, and then roughly tugs the remains past my shoulders. She attacks my neck and throat vigorously; kissing, biting, sucking...

Oh, the sucking. My knees buckle and I slide back against the wall. A strong grip around my waist yanks me close to her.

She kisses me, nipping my lip and then turns me around to face the wall.

“This is exactly what you wanted, Shepard,” she growls in my ear before kissing the back of my neck.

Her fingers slide inside my waistband, her nails scraping downwards at _just_ the right angle. Nimbly, she undoes the belt, button and zip, and yanks my pants down, underwear with it.

Now free of clothing, besides my bra and jacket ha n ging past my shoulders, she spins me round again, meeting me in the middle with my mouth to hers.

Fingernails  rake  over my hip, thigh and under – to lift my leg up and  around her,  hitting just the right spot . The heat radiates and the friction is  _unbearable_ as I'm completely in her thrall.

“I promise you won't regret being bad,” Aria says, her breathy laugh almost goading me...

I feel a surge within me.  My biotics unleash, pushing her back against the stall door, which collapses as she takes me with her.

Now rolling about on the floor I manage to relieve her of most of her clothing, ripping her top down the middle. Her flash of anger turns to approval as I ravage her bare flesh with the same treatment she afforded me.

I pull her up; and with firm grip on her hips, slam her against the sinks.

One hand behind her head, the other  gripping  under. There's no way she's getting away now  as I intend to inflict every  measure of my skill upon her.

And soon she is as malleable and lost to pleasure as I was. Completely under my control.

I see myself in the mirror  behind her . And just a flicker of self comes back to me. With my face, and the back of her I feel a dizzying sense of displacement.

It could be  _her._

Except it damn well couldn't be. I know. She has three freckles at the nape of her neck and she's a shade or two lighter than Aria. The scent is wrong too...

And thoughts  snap to black as  Aria takes hold of my chin and pulls my gaze back to her face.

“Stay here with me,” she commands, teetering on the edge. “You don't want to miss this part.”

Her eyes turn black, her head snaps back with a throaty moan and then she pours into me all  of  the pleasure, desire, fury and frenetic energy between us.

Which exposes f lashes of her mind – all of me  in reverse.

 

_The kiss on Omega._

_Her wanting glances before that, all when my attention was elsewhere._

 

_The first time we met in Afterlife._

_Her watching me curiously as I enter._

 

_Her seeing my image on a datapad._

_She tosses it aside._

_When alone, she picks it up. Stares._

 

She has wanted me for some time...

With that revelation and the energy surrounding us, both biotic fields conjoin – it feels like we're in a giant, rapidly expanding bubble, until it –

 

Implodes

 

Energy crashing out around us. Mirrors shatter. Sound dulls. And I know it's not finished yet.

She grips onto me, her teeth at my shoulder as she rides through the force within her, which is running straight through me.

It seizes me finally, after chasing me for so long  and  _utterly destroys_ me from within.

It all goes black as  I collapse into her, chest heaving and sweat slick . I don't think my heart can handle this  pounding .  My nervous system feels shredded beyond repair. I wouldn't be surprised  if she  was latent Ardat-Yakshi.

I find the strength to push myself off  her by the sink edge  to locate the rest of my clothing.  I'm  barely capable of avoiding the  broken glass as I awkwardly re - dress.

“Well, Shepard,” she muses, dabbing her lips and forehead with water from the fountain. “With a performance like that, you can definitely come again.”

She smirks, clearly very pleased with her double entendre.

My head is aching. I don't know why... if I smacked it somewhere amongst  it all . I think it would really be crippling if the residual pleasure everywhere else wasn't cancelling it out.  It's also  giving me have a serious problem with words.

Not that I want to stand in the debris of the aftermath and have a good, long talk with Aria T'Loak about the rutting that just happened, but  I should say  _something._

“I should go,” I manage to mumble She takes a hold of me, pulling my wrecked uniform jacket tightly shut to protect what little dignity I seem to have in this moment.

“See you soon,” Aria says, grabbing me for a last, hard kiss. “I'm sure.”

I think I manage a sort of squinting nod to her, before bowing out of the bathroom.

Outside, Bray is standing guard. Explains why no one interrupted us.

“Shepard,” he nods, amused.

I return the nod and stagger towards the nearest cab stand.

 

 


	5. Aftershock

**5 – Aftershock**

 

 

I was so exhausted after Aria that I reached the tipping point of not being able to sleep at all.

Remnants of tingling pleasure, stinging from the bruises of rough play and the nagging spike of pain at the back of my skull. My muscles ache deeply, like aftershock from an adrenaline rush before dying.

But more than all of that what kept me awake was the vivid memory of the lust and carnal nature of Aria's amorous attack. How I felt her pull into me. How much she desired to have me, blood and bones and the animal inside me that wanted her just as badly.

I keep replaying parts of it in my mind. It won't leave me, much like her scent which is still embedded in my skin.

Sometimes Liara's face, her hands, her mouth flash into my mind. I have to push them away because the longer they lingered, the unhappier they became.

Because of all of this sleep has been  _very_ hard to come by.

So when I struggle down to the CIC in the morning and Traynor informs me of a fuel depot that's gone silent, checking it out is the last thing I want to do.

–

Reapers.

Of course they'd want to cripple our war machine and cut off fuel supply. I just assumed it was Cerberus. Everything's Cerberus.

Rendezvoused with Captain Riley's team then headed into the Reactor. With Liara and Garrus at my side I can push the fog of fatigue from me and focus on the mission. I still hurt every where. Just ignoring it a lot better and focusing on shooting straight. Not sure my body can deal with my biotic energy today.

We've managed to get the first reactor online and mowed down a lot of Reaper troops in the process.

Now Liara and Garrus are tackling the overhead foes while I'm getting the second reactor online. As I power it up, I see a couple of husks coming in my direction from the corner of my eye.

I turn to throw a shockwave –

Only to be met with unbearable agony in my skull. I grip the back of my head with one hand and clumsily hold my rifle in the other hand. All I can see is white and black spots. It's only luck and a reasonable sense of direction that allows me spray bullets and kill the first husk.

But the second grabs hold of me, mounting my front, trying to claw at my face.

I swing my gun around to meet it, just managing to throw it from me.

I batter it with the butt of my pulse rifle until it goes down, ignoring the searing pain from my biotic attempt. I keep hitting until it's nothing but grey dust.

I drop my gun and reach behind my head. The base of my neck – where my biotic implant is – is white hot and throbbing.

My vision is swimming and there's a ringing in my ears – which starts to sound like someone talking to me.

It is. It's Captain Riley. They're overrun. Lost one. Need backup.

Split-second decision with a splitting headache. I inhale deeply, straighten up, which helps me see straight and get my game face on. I beckon Garrus out of position.

“Garrus – you go help Riley and her squad,” I shout over to him.

“On it,” he nods, sprinting back towards their holding position.

Leaving Liara and I. We can do this. We've done this many times before. But she doesn't know it'll be her biotics and my gun, rather than the awesome power of our coordinated attacks and detonations which make us such a formidable team.

I consider telling her, but I don't have time for a ten minute lecture when I can hear the hustle of the next wave from the reactor.

“Liara – wave coming. When you see a cluster of husks – throw a singularity, I'll pick them off. Recharge and hit any marauders with stasis. Brute – warp it as often as you can.”

“Understood,” she affirms, finding flanking cover.

The wave rumbles in. The plan's working. I doubt she's noticed my lack of biotic activity given how well we've been containing them. Until the brute comes ambling out of the darkness.

“Warp!” I command, firing several Scorpion shots at it, causing mini explosions over its torso. Last clip.

She brilliantly balances singularity fields on the armed cannibals while throwing warp fields at the massive beast. I perform crowd control, head-shots to several marauders until it's only the brute and a stream of husks left.

The brute has picked her as its victim.

“Throw a flare, Shepard,” Liara shouts, firing with her Paladin. “Warp won't do it alone.”

The brute advances on her. I try to concentrate –  _Just one flare._ Concentrate all of my energy into just one  damn \---

It cripples me. I crumble to my knees before anything comes out.

Liara sees me fall  from a distance , she retreats back several lines of cover. She shoots a husk over my head as I'm bent over on the metal grating.

_Get. Up._

I look round, gritting my teeth and squinting my eyes to help  the blurred vision. The  br ute isn't dissuaded from going after Liara,  despite my vulnerability  that makes me easy pickings . She tries to climb to high ground  on a ladder, but a husk pulls her back  to the floor.

“Shepard, flare!” she yells as the brute comes swinging towards her. “SHEPARD!”

I start running towards the brute, my pulse rifle in hand. I empty half of my thermal clip into it. Even at a distance, it surely can't take much more. But it's still going for her as she battles husks, using her biotic energy on them rather than the hulking mass of twisted metal plate and dismembered Krogan/Turian coming towards her.

Nothing else for it. Now. Now  _Now._

I summon all of my strength, focus on every eezo-afflicted nodule inside me, ignore the burning inside my brain and--

_Launch_ into a biotic bharge. I hear a shrill scream as I surge through the air. On impact with the brute, I realise it was me.

The brute disintegrates into fire flakes of metal and dried flesh.

But I'm not done yet. Not while I have a modicum of strength. Raise back and--

Deliver an almighty nova to the ground for the benefit of the baying husks.

At which point I collapse and promptly black out.

–

Ah... the familiar clinical smell of the Med-Bay mixed with Dr. Chakwas light perfume. Always makes me feel better to know I was hurt enough to be dragged back here, but not to be waking up in Huerta. Or not at all.

“...would she have known?”

“I imagine so.” Dr. Chakwas replies ruefully. “It happens extremely rarely, but from what I understand, the pain would have been extreme – debilitating if she tried to use biotics. Even just walking around with the fault would have caused her severe headaches or risk for neural shocks – never mind a charge in the field.”

“It's our Commander,” I hear the dulcet tones of Garrus say. “She wouldn't let that put her down.”

“Damn right,” I utter, coughing ungracefully to announce my consciousness.

“You're awake, Commander, you're on the Normandy, but don't try to move,” Dr. Chakwas orders softly, as she appears above me.

“This is why you can't have nice things, Shepard,” Garrus chides, appearing opposite her. “Cerberus paid through the nose for those L5n implants when you were dead. Think of all the trouble and expense they went to.”

I know who the first voice was but she's nowhere in my field of vision.

“Commander, your biotic implant malfunctioned,” Dr. Chakwas informs me, examining my pupils. “I've deactivated your implant by the rather rudimentary fail-safe. But I'm no expert – we can't do anything else until we get you to one on the Citadel.”

“We've got you an appointment in a couple days. Know you hate waiting,” Garrus adds helpfully.

Chakwas runs a scan over my head with her omni tool.

“No biotic activity whatsoever until then,” Chakwas warns. “No implant – No focus for your biotics. You're not used to controlling your energy without it – so not a spark.”

“I won't,” I promise.

“I'm rather worried about your regular dispersal,” she says carefully. “You've had an implant for so long – and your body is used to producing and honing biotic energy for combat on a regular basis. I'd need to do some research, but we may need to do something to quell the level of biotic activity in your system.”

“I'll take care of that,” Liara volunteers quietly, still not visible from my prone position. “I have some experience.”

“Thank you, Liara,” Chakwas says over to the far corner. She surveys the scan results on her omni-tool. “Your scans look promising. You should be able to carry out reasonable duties over the next few days until you see the specialist.”

“Reasonable means no fire-fights, Shepard,” Garrus reminds me. “Definitely no taking down Reapers with Thresher Maw cannons.”

“Then what we gonna do for fun?” I ask him. We exchange a grin.

“All in all, Commander, you're extremely fortunate,” Dr. Chakwas says.

“Commander Shepard: Extremely fortunate. That'll be on your gravestone,” Garrus jokes, a hand on my shoulder.

I give him a soft chuckle. “Only if--”

“THAT'S ENOUGH!” Liara roars.

“Garrus. Lets you and I see if we can confirm the Commander's appointment,” Dr. Chakwas says, taking Garrus by the arm and leading him away.

I wait for the sound of the door sliding shut to know when to expect her to launch into a tirade. It doesn't come. There's nothing. Did she leave?

It's a battle just to sit upright, my head feeling like a rock. I see her standing as far away from me as possible in this room, staring at the ground.

When she looks up and sees me struggling, she panics.

“Shepard, don't,” she says, more softly than I expected. She rushes to me, easing me back down.

“Liara...” I start quietly, not really knowing what I'm going to say. Sometimes I just like hearing her name aloud.

“You're an idiot,” she says abruptly.

“Liara--”

“You knew your implant wasn't working,” she accuses. “I saw you collapse. I knew you were in discomfort on the shuttle.”

“But I didn't know it wasn't working until it... wasn't,” I say lamely.

“Shepard, I've never known you to be so reckless!” she seethes, pacing by my bedside, looking like she wants to take her anger out on something. Probably lucky I'm injured already.

“I'm still a soldier, Liara – I can shoot,” I say defiantly, getting a little pissed.

“No – You're a Commander. Garrus and I are your team. If you lie to us, how can we trust you?”

I don't have any answer for that, because she's completely right.

“What if it was me? What if I'd done that and not told anyone?” she points out.

“I wouldn't have taken you down there,” I mumble.

“But you couldn't make that decision – because I would have _lied_ about my deficiencies. And you wouldn't have know n a damn thing about it until you were swarmed by husks with a brute coming at you!”

“I stopped it,” I say quietly, looking away from her. “I wouldn't have let anything happen to you.”

“I know that because you knocked yourself unconscious to prove it,” she says, her anger dropping several notes. “You could have been killed."

“I'm sorry, Liara. I felt tired and a bit of pain – but I didn't know what was going on until inside the reactor.. And I should have told you then, but there was no time... and more coming...” I drift off.

“I know,” she says, her hesitant touch on my arm.

“I am sorry,” I tell her truly, turning to face her.

“I know,” she whispers.

She takes a moment. “Do you know what caused the malfunction?”

“No.”

She sees right through me.

 


	6. The Pawn

**6** **–** **The Pawn**

 

 

Traynor's coming up for the evening. Well, I'm assuming the evening. She asked me for “a moment to talk later”, but I'm making the safe assumption and opening a bottle of wine. We'll maybe watch a vid. But knowing her, she'll notice the wooden chess pieces and go nuts.

If anything did happen, if it's that kind of evening, which it often is when she asks for a “moment” in her delightfully understated way, I think I'm going to feel a bit decadent and a bit guilty about it.

I've never been that type of girl. I've never been promiscuous, or hell, even reasonably sexually active. The Navy's all fraternisation, particularly within lower ranks. Long journey, small beds, no air and there's only so many times you can clean your gun while waiting to get planet-side.

But before Liara, I can say that I never went for anyone I was serving with, or under. And Liara wasn't even Alliance; just a scientist with formidable biotic power and an unfortunate familial connection that kept her on board and in the field.

Saying _just a scientist_ is wrong. That she can be vital in combat, intensely educated, a skilled researcher – as well as taking the prime (and dangerous) position of private intel gathering in the galaxy – makes her anything but just a scientist.

It wasn't that she was technically not Alliance that caused to break my chaste streak. Wasn't that she was exotic and exciting as one of the more lusted after species of the galaxy (because she doesn't fit the Asari dancer mould at all, being sort of a geek). Wasn't because I got my own command and become a Spectre and felt I could do whatever the hell I liked (opposite, actually – I was scared to death of doing something wrong).

It was her. From the first moment in the stasis field she captivated me. I used to think it was the joining to decipher the beacon that made me crazy about her, but I know the madness started from the first moment. It was easier to explain my rapidly growing fixation on the quirks of her mental abilities. It wasn't the damsel thing, because when she slapped a singularity that spun the room, her power was irresistible to me.

It was her mind and her eyes and her kindness. She also had a certain delicate naivety on the first Normandy that made everything seem wonderful and fascinating, even when things were actually extinction-level terrible.

I think I'm the reason she lost that.

But it's her fault I'm here. Sleeping with my specialist in the same week as with a pirate queen. She opened the gates. The imminent threat of annihilation is just letting through the flood.

Especially tonight. I kind of feel like it's what I need, rather than feeling sorry for myself over a lapse in judgement compounded by a huge tactical error – to the result of incurring Liara's wrath and disappointment. Need something to wash out that wound.

“Evening, Commander?” Traynor calls from the door. I wave her in as I turn on the music. I don't have a great selection, all Alliance reqs.

Instantly her eyes are drawn to the new chess set on the table.

“You feeling like a match? Got a new board. Half holo, half the real thing,” I say.

“Yes, Commander, I saw that. You know it got back from Omega before you did.”

"And people say the post office is no good. I'll let you go solids – Unless you're scared,” I tease, handing her a glass of Thessia red.

“Not of that, Commander,” she half smiles, taking a grateful gulp.

“Sorry. Samantha. Sorry. You wanted to talk about something. Sit down,” I urge her.

“If it's all right by you, Commander. I'll work up to it. After I take your puny holo men,” she says, positioning herself for starting the game.

“OK. I can see _trying_ to take my holo men. But they'll die for their General,” I smile, moving my pieces in position with my omni-tool.

She breathes easier when she feels the carved wooden figures in her hands. I watch as she arranges her side for battle, almost ceremonious in preparation. 

“Nice to see you finally got a promotion from Commander,” she comments playfully.

 “Think they felt so bad they jumped several ranks and transferred me to the marines.”

 “To me, that says the Navy's desperate to get rid of you,” she smiles.

 “Can't see why,” I shrug.

 She makes the first move. I shift my first pawn into position.

“So you've had quite a time of it lately,” Traynor says. “I'd say you'd been in the wars, but that's pretty redundant these days. How's your head?”

“Anything's an improvement on yesterday. Liara siphoned off some biotic energy and since then I've been feeling... lighter. The voices are quieter now,” I say in a comically grave tone, watching her next move. “But I'll be seeing the specialist in a couple days and hopefully I'll get back to normal.”

“She's been helping you a lot lately.” Traynor remarks. “Dr T'Soni, that is. She mentioned you came across a mech variant on Omega. Gave you some bad burns. Are they healing?”

“She's not a real doctor. A real doctor wouldn't disclose medical details or try to cure you with a fossil brush,” I reply, countering her move. “But they're mostly gone now.”

“Sorry, Shepard, I only asked because I was concerned,” she blushes.

“Hey, I was joking,” I soothe. “Guessing you wanna know about the mech upgrades?”

“Wouldn't mind hearing about it,” she says with a relieved smile.

“And by the Turian spirits, the Reaper monstrosities that Cerberus experimented with,” I say, shaking my head. “You'll be glad they're confined to Omega...”

–

“It does feel better having the real thing in your hands,” I comment, playing with her wooden knight in my palm. I'm trying to incite our traditional psychological war-game while playing chess. “Makes the sacrifice of your men that much harder. You know what you're giving up...”

It's usually her that starts it, but she's been oddly quiet. And I know it's because there's something on her mind. She won't excuse herself losing though and at this moment in time, I own the board.

 

I don't want to seem callous or ignorant, but I'm just trying to get her to relax and have fun, like we always do. Maybe I just need to take her mind off it all together...

“In fact, it's making me uncomfortable watching you sweat. Feeling like I might need to wash it off,” I tease, with a glance towards the shower.

Shower sex is our favourite. It's fun, it's frivolous. And when the first time was that damn good, you put it on repeat. I'm habitually dirty while getting clean, now.

I stand, hold out my hand to pull her up and close in for a kiss.

“Commander – Stop!” she half-sobs into my mouth, wrenching herself away from me.

“Oh God, Samantha, are you OK? I didn't mean to.. damnit.. I was just trying... sorry,” I stutter wildly.

I am clearly not as charming as I think I am.

“I think,” I say with my hands taking hers away from her face. “I think you need to tell me what's on your mind.”

“It's _all_ that's on my mind,” she confesses. “Because I can't think of what to say to you that won't make it come out wrong.”

“I've never thought of you as an inarticulate person, Traynor,” I smile, taking us both back to sitting. “So take a breathe – take a sip – and let me know what's going on in your head.”

She does just that, holding the wine glass with both of her unsteady hands, while I wait.

“And if it comes out wrong, I'll just filter it through my Traynor-translator,” I joke weakly.

“OK,” she breathes out. “OK. Com-- Shepard. When _this_ first started, I told you that... I told you I play for keeps.”

“I fondly remember,” I nod.

“And your history with Dr. T'Soni is... tangible. And understandable. It's the reason we're discreet, and I'm absolutely OK with that,” she says, tripping over her words as she rushes them out. “And I know we're not serious. _I know that_. We've never discussed it. And I don't want to seem like some fangirl, acting daft about Commander Shepard, just happy with a second glance. But that's sort of what I am. Or it's what I feel like.”

She buries her head in her hands. “I know, I know. I'm acutely aware of how idiotic I sound.”

“Samantha, I'm sorry if I made you feel like anything less than you should. I love spending time with you – it's one of my favourite ways to shower.”

“One of?” she challenges, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“But I don't feel ready to get into something consumes me,” I say honestly. “And if you are, and if this is starting feel more uneven than you'd like, then we should stop.”

“Stopping doesn't feel like what I want, Shepard,” she says softly.

“I've been the one always wanting more, and it's not a good way to be. I don't want that for you.”

“Who could ever make you feel like that?” she says, taken aback. “There I go, fangirling again.”

“Doesn't matter,” I say quietly. “I just don't want to mess you about. I'm not saying that type of commitment and intimacy won't happen – because being with you makes me feel wonderful, and you're so clever and talented it awes me – I'm just saying I'm not planning for it. And with where we are, where all of us are in this war, I'm sort of not hoping for it.”

“That's... OK,” she says finally, not looking at me. “I'm OK with that. You're right, mostly.”

She adds a grin, which really makes me feel like it's OK.

“I'm usually mostly right,” I say, returning the smile.

“I adore being with you. And any time we do get to relax and have a little fun in the middle of all _this_ isn't something to pass up on,” she says with confidence. “And while we're having the deep conversation, I should confess what brought this on.”

Not losing the match, I'm guessing.

“I heard you were with someone,” she says carefully. “Aria T'Loak, being the someone.”

From my toes to my scalp, every inch of my nervous system is ravaged with panic. Not for her, not for Traynor. I know I can trust her... But everyone... the crew... And of course the other _her._

“Right... is that common knowledge?” I force out in a squeakier voice than I would like.

How did this get out? How did it spread so quickly? It did happen in the public bathrooms of a packed club that the current favourite for soldiers of all stripes on shore leave.

But nothing happened where people saw - But all those people Aria threw out could've just thought she was there to kick my ass - But Bray was standing guard - But I never told anybody...

Did she?

“Tech specialist on the SSV Orizaba mailed me. We came through training together. He was at the club on shore leave and... But I haven't told anyone” she says quickly.

Seemingly, the noise of very aggressive and explosive sex is recognisable through a door. Suppose Batarian's aren't a magical soundproof screen. And I did come out looking blissfully mauled.

So stupid to think I'd gotten away with that one.

“I wasn't angry,” she continues. “You did nothing wrong. I was just confused, and now we've had this chat I don't feel confused any more.”

“Well. Good,” I force out, my entire body still aflame. My brain cannot compute the consequences.

“I mean, I would if she was the slightest bit interested,” Traynor says with a cheeky smile, completely oblivious to my internal freak-out as she lines up her next move, studying the board from all angles. “She gorgeous and powerful and dangerous. What more could you want?”

Exactly, Shepard. What more do you want.

“Now I just need to wait for EDI to get tired of Joker's shenanigans, and I can make my move,” Traynor says, capturing my Queen.

 


	7. Playing Nice

**7 – Playing Nice**

 

 

“Commander, it's looking good,” Dr Hale tells me, checking her omni-tool. “I was able to completely visualise the blown nodes and make the repair as non-invasive as possible. More of a scratch than a bullet wound.”

“Didn't feel like it,” I murmur, mesmerised by the skycars flying above the Presidium from the view out of the recovery room window.

The back of my head is still numb from the procedure, but the sedative wore off quickly. No searing pain, no feeling of impending biotic implosion, no nagging headache – and all in the time it takes to clean a rifle. Makes sense if you think about it.

“Will it work like before? Will I be as good?” I ask, verbalising the fear that has been needling at me since I felt that searing pain seize me at the reactor.

“Absolutely. I'd be easy on the biotics over the next few days. Give the repair time to heal and your biotics time to reboot without overheating,” she advises.

“That should be manageable,” I tell her with relief, standing up and offering my hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Commander,” she says, heartily shaking my hand. “For everything you're doing.”

I can't bring myself to say anything to her without feeling like a fraud – given that I blew out my implant having sex with a known criminal.

So I nod and smile gratefully, taking my leave.

First person I notice in the waiting room is that very same criminal element. Mostly because she's the only Asari in an Alliance biotic clinic.

Walking past her, I incline my head in the direction for her to follow. She looks amused at my command.

I sneak us into an alcove, right before the glass doors to the elevator where my friends will be waiting.

“What are you doing here?” I ask abruptly, looking over my shoulder to see who's waiting for me.

“No one's here,” she says with mock disappointment. “Normandy got tagged with 'random' dock inspection. All crew back on deck.”

I can only look witheringly at this relentless creature.

Part of me thought she'd be done with me. She got what she wanted, the chase wouldn't thrill as much. But then, to be Aria T'Loak: eyes everywhere and fist that reaches even further... I know there's only a few people she trusts. And one of them is a Batarian. Despite my contentious history with the race, I don't think there's a species on the Citadel that would fancy them.

“I'm not having sex with you again,” I tell her bluntly. “You blew out my bio implant.”

“Sorry, Shepard. I just couldn't stop myself,” she laughs. “I forget how breakable your kind is.”

“The implant, not me,” I tell her, the laughter irritating me. “I'm unbreakable.”

“That sounds like a challenge to me. And I always rise to a challenge,” she says, enjoying herself.

“I'm serious, Aria – I was in the middle of a mission before I realised - I just had to have brain surgery,” I say, not letting up. She still can't wipe the smile from her face.

“Relax Shepard, you're part cyborg at this point anyway.”

“I can't have brain surgery every time you role-play Ardat Yakshi while I'm in the middle of a war,” I hiss.

She tries to assuage my annoyance with a warm hand on my cheek, thumb trailing over my lips.

“I can be gentle, Shepard,” she says soothingly. “You don't believe me? You think it's only sheltered little archaeologists that can make love?”

My muscles tense at the mention of her. She knows it. Aria plays dirty.

“I can make love,” she whispers into my ear. “And I can enjoy it.”

“Has to be seen to be believed,” I say, daring myself.

“Come over to mine tonight. I'll make it up to you,” she offers. “I'll wine you. I'll dine you. And I'll tuck you up in bed, nice and early.”

She looks to me, trying to gauge how successful her seduction has been. She grins, gratified by my silent acceptance.

“You remember the address?”

I nod. She slides past me out of the alcove, making sure I feel the heat of her body, to leave through the glass doors.

“Shepard,” she calls back. “Resist the urge to wear your uniform. Or armour.”

–-

I'm in a towel, hair soaking, having just showered in my cabin when I hear my main door open and a voice calling out.

“Shepard, are you in here?”

Keep forgetting to lock it.

There's only one person who would come up unannounced anyway.

Maybe that's why I keep forgetting.

“In here, Liara,” I tell her.

She follows the sound of my voice to her barely covered Commander. I think the awkwardness strikes us both at the same time.

“Sorry, Shepard, I didn't realise. That was rude of--” she says, turning around. Could be to not see me, or so I can't see her.

It's interesting, her reaction, considering a week ago she was salving up my bare body. I think she was in a clinical mindset – very clear, very professional. Just as she has been when helping disperse my excess biotic energy safely the past few days.

But I can't say it doesn't give me a little kick to know that she still regards me that way. Whether that's as part of all bare flesh in the galaxy that she'd be embarrassed to be around, or mine in particular, I don't know.

“It's OK, Liara,” I say, stepping back into the bathroom to get some spare (and unfortunately unwashed) clothes

“I'm sorry I wasn't at the clinic, Shepard,” Liara says, a little louder than she needs to. “There was meant to be a customs inspection of cargo and crew.”

“I heard,” I say with my back to her, slipping on my hoody and pants.

“C-Sec dock inspectors didn't,” she says pointedly. “They had no record of it. I checked their systems after waiting for three hours.”

“At least we don't need to spend a week reorganising everything they pulled out in the inspection,” I say, avoiding her gaze while heading to my bedside to pull on some fresh socks. “Plus, they'd have tried to seize Javik as an unregistered species and we'd have a lot of dead primitives to explain.”

“Suppose you're right,” Liara says reluctantly, coming down to meet me. “How did it go? The surgery? How are you feeling?”

“It was a minor thing,” I reply. “Turns out it was just--”

I freeze when I feel a hand on the back of my neck. The intimate contact from her is jarring. But she's just pulling up my wet hair to view the area where my implant is, which is covered by a small circle of tightly sealed dressing.

“Can I?” she says gently.

“Go ahead,” I say, trying to keep my cool.

I feel her pull back the dressing. She stays silent while she inspects it.

“I can barely see an incision,” she remarks, impressed, as she reseals the site. “It's excellent work.”

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” I say, trying to shrug away the shudders travelling down my spine.

I make the mistake of looking up at her, with her hand still on the back of my neck. She forgets herself for an instant; I think she's enjoying being in close comforting contact with me.

Until she breaks the moment, withdrawing her hand and purposefully moving away from my bedside.

She casts an eye around my cabin. There are several things she could see. There's the strapped black high heels (or as high as I can manage) just peeking out on the other side of the bed. A make-up case sitting on my desk, with rarely used contents spilling out of it. An illogically small bag on the left side (what was her side) of the bed.

And there's my dress, hanging up by the shower. I'm using the old Earth trick of my people to make it look less like it's been crushed at the bottom of a crate, since I was taken to answer to Alliance command and all my stuff was cleared out of my ship. Y'know, just before Reapers attacked and I was unfortunately vindicated in everything I stood for.

I stand up, hoping to distract her with movement. But she justlooks at me, up and down. I imagine she's taking in every detail, every clue...

I am so paranoid.

If I'm this paranoid, I probably shouldn't be doing it.

“Going somewhere?” she supposes.

“Few drop-offs,” I shrug, hoping to convince her with my nonchalant attitude. “Then Vega said he'd buy me a drink.”

“At Purgatory?”

“Seems to be where all the kids hang out these days,” I laugh weakly.

“Yes. Does seem to be,” she murmurs, looking up to the bathroom. She probably sees the dress. Probably knows it's my only decent dress. Also probably remembers it from the floor of this very cabin the night she came over last year.

God I hope she doesn't conclude that there's something going on between me and Vega...

“And now your implant's fixed, how long do you imagine we'll be docked at the Citadel before our next mission?”

“Making plans?” I ask curiously. I have no right to be, but still.

“I'd like to spend some time with my father,” she replies, somewhat coldly.

“Oh, of course, yeah. Well – Going to give the guys shore leave tomorrow. And ship out the next. Think that should be enough time for my implant to take by the time we get to the Far Rim,” I shrug. “That enough time for you and Aethyta?”

“I'll see if she's available,” Liara says, turning to her omni-tool to send a message. Illuminated by the orange haptic interface, no line on her face betrays emotion.

God, she is so good at hiding things. Clearly, I'm really not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of double chapter day for the holiday festivities (or more just because this was one huge chapter, split thematically into two - so a bit of a cheat, really). Chapter 8 should be along shortly.
> 
> Thank you to all who have left reviews and kudos. If it hasn't been said before, I really appreciate it - knowing that some folks are along for the ride as well... :)


	8. Playing with Fire

**8 – Playing with Fire**

 

I came here on autopilot, I barely even thought about it. Even the address. I couldn't tell you what it was. I remember her telling me; must have programmed into my brain. Next thing I'm at the door with little memory of how I got here, as the journey was swallowed by my thoughts.

I don't have the same innate terror about being here. Still a little anxious of how far I might let her go (considering the recent surgical incision on the back of my neck)but I don't feel scared about making that choice again.

Not when I already chose.

Regardless of the reason, I'm here. I'm wearing a sexy dress, that's making me feel relatively so. I'm slightly closer to Asari table dancer than Krogan in a bathing suit – which is all I can really ask for, with my chunky calves, man shoulders and fighting arms.

I'm not vain. I really have no body issues, spending most of my life encased in a suit of armour. Worrying about how you look is laughably trivial, compared to how you'll look on the inside of a Thresher Maw.

However, I've always felt uncomfortable doing the girl thing. I feel ungainly and inelegant. There is a little bit of me that wants to feel beautiful – but I just don't have the time. And if I did have time you can be sure I wouldn't waste it on that.

Liara always looks beautiful. No time wasted though, it's all natural.

Aria, however, is something different.

Her beauty comes from her power. While she had to work hard to seize it, she wears it effortlessly. Power exudes from her like perfume. I'm close enough to inhale it: as she's before me now, holding the door open and assessing me to see if I'm passable.

“Commander,” Aria says, almost certainly impressed. “Oh, this is definitely more acceptable.”

“Glad I meet the dress code,” I say, awkwardly stumbling over so little words.

Seems to be a running theme that whenever I try 'charming' or 'witty' mode with Aria, I fail miserably. I don't know what it is that sets me off-kilter.Apart from the Council Spectre/Notorious Criminal dynamic.

As she closes the door behind me, I feel a hand gliding over my hip.

“Yes. Very nice,” she says, producing a glass of wine for me.

“Glad you like it,” I say. “It's the only one I own.”

“It might not get torn then,” she says dryly, leading me through the wood-panelled corridor to the lounge area, which feels as big as the cargo bay. Airy, open plan and stylishly decorated. Element features all around – large fireplace, waterfalls and glossy wooden finishing.

“This is amazing. Stunning,” I say. “And so not your taste.”

“Are you saying I can't be classy, Shepard?” she asks, feigning offence, as she reclines on a dark red sofa.

I turn to face her, looking the luxurious couch over.

“That's the only thing of yours in here,” I tell her, gesturing to the sofa. “Not happy without a throne.”

She nods, approving of my assumption, I think.

“But the rest of this? Either you hired a team of decorators who have never been in Afterlife or even met you – or this isn't your place. And you've just smuggled that couch in here.”

“Because I'm a squatter, Shepard – really?” she says, eyebrow raised. I keep hold of her stare until she buckles. “But you're right. And wrong. This is my place. As of a month ago. I bought it 'as is' at a very reasonable rate from a wealthy Asari who I knew a little too much about.”

“And she didn't want to take any of her things?” I ask, looking along a line of books in a glass case. Rare, expensive, mostly first editions – the kind of thing Kasumi would steal.

“Fleeing,” Aria says. “She bought the Sanctuary pitch. Shipping over her sculptures would have been an issue.”

I look at the striking sculptures manning the room like sentry guards. They're definitely Asari, perhaps a little Prothean if you squint.

“So you planning to do it up a little?” I ask, tongue in cheek. “Turn this dump into somewhere habitable. I imagine it darker – Industrial chic vibe. Maybe some caged dancers over there.”

“I doubt it,” she sighs. “Won't be here long. Or none of us will be here long. Whichever.”

“You going back to Omega?” I ask, sitting down. Not close enough to touch, but not far enough to be unreachable.

“That's the plan.”

“When?” I ask seriously.

“Why? Will you miss me?” she asks in a sultry voice. I can't help but feel she's making fun of me.

“I have a stealth frigate,” I boast. “I can get just about anywhere.”

Damnit. I don't even know what I meant by that. Just gonna assume it was the arrogance of commanding a warship seeping through.

“Sure, Commander, but there's a lot less call for your services on Omega in the middle of a war, than there is at the seat of galactic power,” Aria says, matter-of-factly.

“Plus every time I go there, someone tries to shoot me.”

“Yet you kept coming back,” she says, staring at me curiously.

“I said _tries,_ ” I smirk. “Just helps your people are lousy marksmen.”

“None of my men ever tried to shoot you,” she says, a little too defensively.

“Your bartender tried to poison me,” I point out.

“He did that to everyone,” she says, waving a dismissive hand and rising from the sofa. “And you incited Omega's mob rule to take care of that.”

I bite my tongue. I did do that. Not my finest moment.

Aria walks under the marbled archway into another part of the apartment, leaving me to ruminate on my actions.

“Saved me the hassle of firing him,” she calls through. I quickly get up and follow in her direction, which takes me to the kitchen.

It's equally as impressive as everything I've seen here. Sleek, shiny appliances. Clean, steel surfaces with a large open range cooker on an island in the centre. There's a draped doorway at the back of the kitchen, leading to the dining area, possibly. I think my own cabin would fit in here.

And there's a mouth-watering, stomach-rumbling, oh-my-god-I've-not-had-real-food-in-so-long sort of smell originating from the oven.

“Made you an old Asari dish. Thought you might like a change from military gruel,” she says, pulling out a large kitchen knife to slice the leafy greens on a chopping board in front of her.

“You cook? You're kidding,” I shake my head, taking a swig of wine.

“Shepard, you really don't know that much about me,” she says, the edge of a warning hidden in there, which is emphasised by the sharp edge of the knife in her hand. “Try to remember that every time you're so shocked by normality.”

“That's fair,” I concede, setting my glass down.

Quite comfortably, I watch her cut in silence, enjoying my wine. It's not long before I note her getting slightly restless.

“So how is your head?” she asks.

“You expressing concern for me, Aria?” I bait her.

“Hardly,” she says quickly. “If you're not up to it, you'll probably get killed. Which means the Reapers will kill all of us. Which probably includes me. Just self-preservation, Shepard.”

“You are quite the contortionist,” I laugh at her feeble attempt to explain the slightest chink in the emotional armour.

“You haven't seen the half of it,” she says confidently, sliding the cut greens into a bowl.

–

“Dinner was wonderful,” I tell Aria, taking a sip of wine to wash it down. My stomach full, my head a little fuzzy and my spirit merry: I feel unusually content. It's not a frequent state of being for me.

“See, there are plenty things you don't know about me,” she says, relaxing back in her high-back chair.

She surprised me tonight, with more than her culinary skills. Though she did say wine and dine, I didn't take the threat seriously enough to expect mood lighting, an expensive looking tablecloth and a soothing instrumental soundtrack. To be fair it probably all belongs to the previous occupant; but that Aria put it all together for an elegant evening is definitely a mild shock.

“I take your point. There's lots you don't know about me either,” I say.

“I've read your files, Shepard,” Aria tells me. “No one came on my rock carrying a gun that I didn't make it my business to know everything about.”

“Yeah. That's, what, service record? Commendations? Field reports? That's not all of me,” I say. “Like growing up, and parents--”

“You grew up on space stations and your mother's a Rear Admiral,” Aria fills in, seeming agitated. “Inner mystery solved.”

“OK, so that would be in my file. But what about you – Did you grow up on Thessia? Or a colony world? What were--”

“I'm not your girlfriend, Shepard,” Aria cuts in coldly, getting out of her chair. “We don't need to share all the inside bits.”

“So – inviting me over – cooking me dinner is what?” I ask, confused. It's the mood lighting that's throwing me.

She comes behind me. “This isn't a date, just seduction,” she says, her fingers trailing down my exposed neck – skimming over my incision site – to the back-line of my dress.

“You didn't do all this for seduction,” I manage to say. “You wouldn't waste your time.”

“I had a point to prove,” she says, her breath at my ear.

Aria effortlessly turns my chair to face her, accompanied by a horrible scraping sound from the floor.

“And the point was?”

“That I can be... nice,” she says slowly, dangerously – just inches away from me

“That I'm not convin--”

She places her hand over my mouth to end the argument.

“Take it for what's in front of you, Shepard. You'll sleep better at night,” she says softly, removing her hand and pressing her lips to mine.

–

It's a little after four in the morning when I awake in the artificially darkened room. It doesn't feel strange, but I do know I shouldn't be here any more.

Aria has her back to me, her hands curled into her chest. There's distance. But both of her feet are intertwined with mine.

Carefully, I untangle them to slip away. She doesn't shift.

I look around the immaculate room to find my clothes. It's not easy to see a black dress in the dark. When I do, I snatch it and hurriedly pull it back on. Finding my underwear will be a lot harder. I contemplate leaving it, when I step on my upended high heel.

I grunt at the sharp pain.

Aria stirs at the interruption. I see her arm stretch out across the bed for me, which quickly retracts when she realises I'm not there. She sits upright.

“Shepard,” she says, voice hoarse which makes her sound almost vulnerable. She quickly rectifies that by clearing her throat. “Shepard.”

As I bend over to grab my shoe, I feel her eyes all over me. It recalls every modicum of pleasure she inflicted on my senses tonight.

“I have to get back – I blew off doing mission specs last night, and I have a few things to do on the Citadel, and--”

“It'll be easier to sneak on the Normandy,” she interrupts.

I feel terrible. Relieved that my back is to her at this moment as I locate the other shoe.

“It's fine, Shepard,” she says blithely. “I don't care.”

“Why would you,” I murmur, winding the left shoe strap around my ankle.

“Exactly,” she says, stretching back onto the headboard, intentionally exposing part of her bare body.

A flash of her, back arched in agonising ecstasy from only a few hours ago, comes to mind.

I push it away. I'm sure I pull the most unflattering expressions when I'm swallowed in a lustful memory like that. Focus on shoes and extraction.

“You're such an amateur, Shepard,” she chides, as I look ready to go. “You realise how famous you are. You won't be the only person doing the walk of shame on the Citadel. Not to mention night shift on your ship. And if you get caught at 5am in just a black dress and no underwear, the crew _will_ guess your dirty little secrets correctly.”

I run my hands protectively over my behind. “How did you...?”

She leans over to her bedside table, opening the drawer. She throws me a pair of red lace panties with a smile.

“I'll take care of yours if you take care of mine,” she says.

The back of my neck burns the colour of the underwear as I ungracefully slip them on.

“And there should be one of the old woman's coats in the closet,” she says, waving in the general direction. “Avoid the varren skin one. Designer, gorgeous but itchy. And no one would ever believe you bought that for yourself.”

I pick out an understated, floor length black coat with a high collar. Probably used for funerals.

I stand, ready to go but unsure what to do.

Should I kiss her goodbye?  
Should I promise to call?  
Should I tell her this was definitely the last time?  
Should I politely thank her for a lovely evening and the mind-blowing (but not literally this time) sex?  
Should I touch her exposed shoulder, slide my hand down the flesh, catch her mouth with mine, drop the coat off, slip back into bed, press myself against her warmth and--

“Shepard,” she says sharply, breaking the trance. “Are you just standing there for some reason?”

“I'll see you, Aria,” I say softly. Almost a promise.

She opens her mouth to respond: probably an abrupt collection of words to express her indifference and attempt to re-establish her dominance.

But she thinks better of it. Her features soften, very briefly. “I'm sure you will.”

\--

Aria was right, I'm not the only one out at this hour. There are others like me, finally trundling home after a night of leisure; service workers starting the early shift; suited salarians on their way to the financial district. They don't need to sleep much. No one really does when it's daylight.

Glad I have this coat. Warms me. Cloaks me. I ghost through the docks without anyone looking at me twice.

Slipping through Normandy's airlock, there's only the very faint, muffled sound of music to greet me.

It's the one Specialist on nightshift, manning the comms system. He has his earphones in. He probably knows I'm there but doesn't let on as I pass behind him.

I hate the sound of my heels on my ship. I feel I'm insulting the Normandy just by wearing them on deck.

I just hate heels. They're impractical. Can't walk the bridge or the CIC without an aggravating series of clanks on the metal floor. Can't be stealthy. Can't run. Can't climb. Can't escape in them.

Suppose they could be used as an offensive weapon in a pinch. But it would need to be a really good hit. Precision strike if it's against a Brute.

Almost there. Almost to a mirror, scrape off whatever I pretended to be. Almost to bed. I hope I can sleep this time. At least there isn't a splitting headache to contend with.

She did prove her point: she can be gentle. Which is a mindfuck I can't think too much about right now, considering all the other things she said.

Not thinking about it – not if I want to pass out on pillow contact.

Finally pass the CIC and to the elevator. I reach out my hand to the control panel but it opens before I touch it. I blink, not quite comprehending how that happened.

That's because there's someone coming up in it.

“Liara.”

“Shepard.”

And then we stand and stare. She, with puffy eyes and paler than she should be. Me, gripping onto this coat like it's a shield and hoping I don't smell of sex.

“Early or late for you?” I ask finally.

“Late,” she says hoarsely, the sore look of her eyes the confirmation.

“Everything OK?” I ask gently, resisting the urge to reach out.

“One of my contacts went dark. Looks like the Reapers have hit another system far more quickly than anticipated and I've been up trying to confirm whether the refugee ships got out of system in time,” she says, her voice strained. “I was coming up to check with Specialist Evans on the bridge if there was anything from the Alliance.”

“Don't have back-door access to our highly encrypted Alliance channels?” I tease gently.

“I chose not to when I started working with Admiral Hackett,” she explains. After a rub of her weary eyes, she asks, “Why are you up?”

“Couldn't sleep,” I say. “Went for a walk.”

Neither things technically untrue.

She stares at me a little too long. Not in a loving way, or curious way. It's a hard dead stare. God, I hope that's the sleep deprivation.

I consider telling her the truth. I don't want her to look at me like I'm a liar. She's so tired that she might believe my obfuscation. But I don't want to be the person that outwardly lies to her. You can't trust that person.

But right now would be an awful time to confess.

“I could stay up with you,” I offer. “I'll make you tea. Be down in your office in five?”

“No, Shepard,” she says abruptly, like it's the worst idea in the world.

It's the exhaustion, the emotional toll or something about me she's not liking.

“No,” she repeats, a little calmer, looking at my feet. “I'll concentrate better alone.”

“You should sleep, Liara.”

“I can't sleep while people are dying!” she exclaims, disgusted at the suggestion.

“Liara,” I say gently. “People are always dying when we sleep. They die when we're awake. We just have to do the best and be the best we can. Which you're not going to be if you're exhausted. I've been having problems sleeping for months because of people dying, but I still try.”

She finally nods, accepting my point. But as she heads in the direction of Specialist, but I doubt she'll take my advice.

 


	9. Food and Games

**9 – Food and Games**

 

 

“Traynor – you not going out to enjoy the artificial sunshine?”

The Normandy's always near empty when we're docked at the Citadel and the last person in the CIC happens to be my Comms Specialist who looks to be mired in work.

“Can't abandon my post, Commander,” Traynor tells me. “Suppose you haven't noticed, but when Normandy's in dry dock, that's when I get most of my work done in peace and quiet.

“Sorry, Traynor, didn't realise I was so loud, standing next to you on deck. Constantly barking orders for the shipmates below to row harder,” I grin. “This mean you never come on the Citadel?”

“Not never,” she shakes her head. “Just once.”

“Then you've barely scratched the epidermis of the surface,” I say. “C'mon, let me take you to lunch. Got a few errands to run, that'll give you the morning for your quiet time.”

“Are you sure, Commander?” she asks in a hushed voice. “Isn't that a bit... risky?”

“I meet up with most of the crew on the Citadel,” I tell her. “It'll be fine. But you say risky and you make it more exciting.”

“I think our lives are exciting enough,” Traynor laughs. “But I'd love to. I've heard everyone talking about Apollo's Cafe.”

“Yeah. Not there,” I reply quickly, having a frighteningly prescient, almost Prothean beacon-like vision of Aethyta spitting in my food and then slamming me over the head with it, while Liara watches from her usual table. “Zakera Ward. Or we could get some fish out of the Presidium, eat al fresco.”

“There's no fish in the Presidium water, Commander,” she laughs, ducking under her station to retrieve other hardware.

“Yeah. I know that,” I mutter, while her head is still under.

“But I'll get you at noon in the Docking Bay? I'll just get lost otherwise.”

“It's a date,” I affirm.

 

-–

 

“I'm really excited to try Galaxy of Fantasy.”

Traynor flips the OSD over in her hands as we sit at our table, waiting for our order.

She's often told me of her love of the physical storage of digital media; that it's more ceremonious than pulling down packets of data. I told her I never expected my Oxford-educated, highly-skilled Specialist to be so old-fashioned. She said it's retro, actually – and it's like the chess pieces. Or long-distance versus close-proximity relationships. Having it right there to hold makes it more real.

She wanted to buy the Commander Shepard VI down at the refugee area, and I tried to talk her out of it. She thought she could improve the programming – boasted to the sales assistant that she could get the accuracy rating of what VI-me says up to 77% percent (I suppose I liked that she finds me 23% unpredictable). All for a portion of the sale, of course, as a donation to the refugee fund.

I told her it would just be creepy if I was her pet project, tinkering away in her off-duty hours when I'm right upstairs. She whispered something salacious that inflamed my cheeks and I let her buy it anyway.

I saw her falling in love with all parts of the Citadel today. Her over-excitement is very endearing. Like when she let out a girlish squeal when we came to the video game stand in Zakera ward on our way to lunch.

“And you'll be installing that on...?” I ask, in my best authoritative voice.

“A partitioned sector of my personal drive for strictly off-duty hours. Promise Commander, no turns while we're under fire.”

“Glad to hear it,” I say, leaning back and subconsciously looking around to see any familiar faces.

I've never tried this cafe on Zakera Ward level 28, though walked by many times. With a smirk, I do recognise the spot right outside where I punched a certain reporter. That was very wrong, but very satisfying. I try not to make it a habit but sometimes I slip.

“Hope the food gets here soon,” Traynor says cheerily. “I'm starving. I could eat yours as well.”

“You take my food, we're gonna have a problem with the chain of command,” I tease.

“Of course, Commander. I appreciate getting out for the day, but getting lunch to go in your cabin might've been a good idea too...”

“We'll need to remember than one,” I say, leaning in closer. “Although I think dessert food would work better than takeaway Sur'kesh style noodles for what I'm thinking of.”

“Please elaborate, Commander...” she whispers, leaning in even closer.

My omni-tool starts beeping. Traynor lets out an annoyed huff of air and slumps back dramatically.

“I'll just hold that thought,” I tell her before answering. “Shepard.”

“Commander.” It's Cortez. I know he was staying on the Normandy to wait for delivery of Kodiak upgrade parts. “Sorry to bother you.”

“It's no problem, Cortez. Everything OK back at Normandy?”

“Aye, Commander. But we received an urgent message for your attention at the Embassies. An ambassador is requesting to speak to a Spectre about an artefact on their home world that might assist with the Crucible. But they're due to leave the Citadel this afternoon to co-ordinate civilian evacuations.”

“Thanks, Steve,” I nod. “I'll get over there right away.”

Crushed. That's what Traynor is as soon as I look up from my omni-tool.

“I'm sorry, Samantha...” I say hesitantly.

“It's OK, Commander. I can sit and read the instruction manual for my game. I was going to do it covertly under the table if you started talking about something boring, like being the first human spectre or the Skyllian Blitz,” she jokes, clearly trying to make me feel better about being a terrible person.

“At least I got you off ship for the afternoon,” I say with a half smile, which she tries to return.

“Yeah – Until I eat and then hideaway in the engineering subdeck playing video-games for the rest of the day,” she says.

“And bonus – you do get to eat my food,” I say, giving her hand a discreet squeeze while placing more than enough credits for the meal in her palm.

“I'll bring back a doggy bag if there's any left-- Nah, actually there won't be, Commander,” she decides with a cheeky wink.

“Thanks, Traynor.”

With a last look, I turn on my heel and head for the embassies. Little frustrating - I was just up there this morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this was a short chapter, there's another one going up today as well - which is in a bit of a different vein, but I'll put a wee note on that when it's up.
> 
> A hearty thank you to all who read, enjoyed, left kudos and comments. I love hearing what you thought of it.


	10. Interlude - Fuck, Marry, Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first in a series of interludes from the main story. There's a few so far, and I'm using them wherever there's a break in the narrative to see something Shepard doesn't, or something Shepard recalls out with the main time-line of the story. Just wanted to add a wee note to avoid confusion or having it be jarring.
> 
> This interlude takes place directly after chapter 9.

**Interlude – Fuck, Marry, Kill**

 

 

Traynor knew this was a terrible idea. Nagging curiosity, spiced with a pinch of jealousy, sent her to Purgatory. She should be installing Galaxy of Fantasy and finding her solace in the assortment of junk food she picked up for that very purpose.

She heard Cortez call. She knew how busy the Commander was any time they docked on the Citadel. She believed that part, but couldn't shake the possibility that Shepard took the opportunity to visit her dangerous shiny, new playmate, instead going back to the boring one that made her play chess too often. Added bonus: Traynor would be able to scout the opponent – casually speaking of course.

As Traynor craned to see the sparsely populated VIP area, she saw the imposing Asari sitting solo. The alien looked to be in a trance-like state, until she threw her head back and let out a frustrated grunt.

Might have been the distance, but Traynor didn't think Aria looked so tough. Or hot. Pretty much nothing to see there.

At least Aria was in plain sight and not under Shepard somewhere. Or on top of Shepard. Or in the shower with Shepard.

Nothing was serious, nothing was exclusive – but that Traynor would consider the shower a betrayal.

“What do you want?” the gruff voice of a Turian mercenary asked Traynor, as she seemed to have encroached a little too far into Aria's territory.

“I just wanted to to check something--” Traynor started to explain politely.

“Get lost, human.”

“I just need to talk-”

“Nobody talks to Aria,” the Turian merc interrupted, punctuating the order with a shove.

“Hey!” Traynor protested. She probably couldn't take him, but she squared up to him in an indignant rage all the same. “You might think I'm just some puny human, but I cou--”

“You,” Aria called out over the hustle. “Come over here.”

Traynor slipped past the Turian, who pettily continued to obstruct her path, despite Aria's beckon.

“Sorry, I was just--” Traynor started, coming closer to Aria.

“You're only here because I'm bored,” Aria told her, looking her over. “Any other day I let him slit your throat and leave you for Keeper food.”

_Charming,_ Traynor tutted internally. Maybe Shepard likes random threats of violence.

“Alliance,” Aria stated, looking at Traynor's uniform. “Normandy.”

“How did you--”

“You wouldn't dare approach me unless you had reason. You're looking for Shepard.”

“I am. It's... an emergency,” Traynor fabricated.

“Is it?” Aria queried, ready to enjoy herself. “What kind, I wonder. You're not one of her ground team. You've never killed anyone in your life – I can tell by the way you stand.”

Traynor subconsciously tried to change the way she stood, awkwardly shifting until she folded her arms, standing straight. This contortion amused Aria further.

“Must be in something incredibly useful... Tech or navigation... the type of job that would make you search a massive space station for Shepard, rather than calling.”

“How do you know all this? Has Shepard told you about me?”

Aria snorted. “Yes. _All_ about you. In fact it's all we talk about. The cute tech girl that's in love with her.”

“R-Really?”

“No.”

“Then who told you about me?”

“I'm a very good judge of character,” Aria said confidently, just getting into her swing.

“Not sure about that,” Traynor replied, setting her jaw to fight back. “I'm her Communications Specialist, actually. And I'm not in love with her... I'm sleeping with her.”

“Surprising she has an on-board fuck buddy,” Aria observed, drawing her eyes from Traynor. “The way she is with me I thought she'd been dry for months.”

Traynor opened her mouth several times, trying to force the most cutting and witty retaliation from her lips. But none came.

“So... Have you seen her?” she asked again.

The look Aria gave her made Traynor feel pathetic. “Chasing Shepard around the Citadel, and to come to _me_... You must be so desperate.”

“Look, I obviously know about you and her,” Traynor said, her tone betraying her feelings. “So can you just--”

“Help you? All right: Think of this all as Shepard's own personal Fuck, Marry, Kill game you marines like to play. It'll make it easier for a doe-eyed thing like you to hate her,” Aria advised.

“I don't hate her, I don't want to hate her,” Traynor replied.

“Suit yourself. But I'd look at what she's turned you into. You've probably written a dozen _Where's this going_ mails and deleted them all. And every time you see her you probably have to stop from throwing yourself at her with your _Love me Love me_ eyes,” Aria taunted, her malevolent streak showing.

“Oh... and I suppose that's so different from you?” Traynor stammered.

“I'm Aria T'Loak. I have lived for a millennia. I've eviscerated my enemies and torn the pretenders apart with my mind,” Aria proclaimed viciously. “I don't write _love letters_.”

Aria looked pointedly at the guest spot on the couch, which was as clear an invitation as Traynor could hope to get. The Specialist sat down, holding her posture rigid.

“If this is Fuck, Marry, Kill – then which one am I?” Traynor asked eventually.

“It's obvious which one Shepard's sweetheart is. Which leaves you and I vying for the coveted spot.”

“Well, I can't see why she would want to kill me,” Traynor said, shifting uncomfortably. “I'm not the Queen of Pirates, Mercenaries and Slavers.”

“You'll find slavery on Illium. Along with fraud, insider trading, extortion and other boring exploitations of the super-rich and powerful. We prefer old fashioned, but respectable crimes on Omega,” the Asari sneered. “Violence, black markets, gang warfare, drug trade. All the good stuff.”

“Still. I think we know which one of us is more likely to be on Shepard's kill list.”

“Not me, Doe Eyes,” Aria said with an arched eyebrow. “When the sex blows out the back of your head, you don't shove it out the airlock. At least until someone's bored.”

“And that's all, it is? Because you've had Omega back for weeks, and you've spent all your time here. I can't see any good reason for it, except one,” Traynor pointed out.

Aria had no response. The Asari narrowed her eyes, jutted out her chin, intending to intimidate the human. But Traynor stared Aria down, feeling more powerful by the second.

“Just because we've shared a vagina, don't presume you know me,” Aria forced outwith bite.

Traynor, despite her triumph, felt uneasy. It seemed Aria sensed this.

“Nina,” Aria called over to the human waitress. “A drink for my guest here. And whatever you're recommending for an acceptable Noverian rum substitute.”

“Of course, Aria,” Nina nods, with a smile.

“ _Love_ Noverian rum,” Traynor enthused. “Expensive though.”

“Not the problem. They don't have the good taste to sell it, despite rising demand,” Aria said, casting a murderous glance towards the bar.

“One more thing to miss about home on Omega,” Traynor said pointedly, though immediately feeling like she was dangling herself above some sizeable jaws.

“You'd like her,” Aria said, ignoring the suggestion and gesturing in the general direction of the waitress. “Nina. She shares our strict preferences.”

“For the Commander?”

“For the mono-gender of my species, or the illusion of it in others.”

“How do you know I'm strict with my preferences?” Traynor asked, trying not to show she was flattered by Aria's observation of her.

“Also in the way you stand,” Aria delivered, deadpan.

Traynor let that remark land as Nina returned with their drinks. She had no idea that _this_ is what Aria T'Loak was like. Maybe there was someone behind there, maybe that's who Shepard saw...

Traynor laughed, shook her head and took a sip of her drink. “I think you must really want me out the way. I must threaten you.”

“If you threatened me, I'd do something more permanent...” Aria started, cocking her head to the side to evaluate her target. “Have you ever been tossed around the room at the end of a biotic lash and felt your insides pulled apart, fibre by fibre, at the centre of a detonation?”

“I've never been on the end of biotics, actually. Never seen combat, remember?” Traynor retorted, pleased with herself that she was refusing to let Aria win.

“Would've thought baby blue would have warped your ass when she heard about you and Shepard,” Aria shrugged.

“She doesn't know,” Traynor shook her head. “Shepard didn't want to cause problems for no reason.”

“ _No reason_ – Flattering,” Aria remarked, gleefully. “But maybe for your protection.”

Traynor frowned, aware she was being insulted. “Don't think Liara's like that.”

“When I first met her,” Aria said, sitting forward. “She was looking for Shepard's corpse. She went through any merc, assassin or Collector in between her and that body – and beat them. She's the reason Shepard's alive today.”

Traynor looked into her drink. She knew there was history. She knew it was big. She could feel it. That's why she never broached the subject with the Commander, especially when they weren't 'anything serious'. But mostly because when Shepard was around Liara, talked about Liara, thought about Liara: she was different. That look on Shepard's face made Traynor's heart contract as the possibility of anything more ever happening between them became more remote.

“Maybe. But it's fine. She and Shepard still talk all the time. Things feel more tense lately, but I don't think that's because of me...” Traynor trailed off. She shook her head resolutely. “No. She doesn't know.”

“You're kidding,” Aria laughed. “She knows. Carry on an affair upstairs from the Shadow Broker and she doesn't know? Come on.”

“She can't--” Traynor started before her brain came to a screeching halt. “Shadow Broker?!”

“She's probably the worst kept secret in the history of the Shadow Broker,” Aria commented. “None of the little people or her agents know who she is. But anyone with the inclination or means to kill her is about two quantum calls away from someone who knows her identity.”

“She's the Shadow Broker?” Traynor exclaimed in hushed tones.

“Which makes her more dangerous now,” Aria mused. “Is it fight or flight you humans say? If you think you'll be more of a challenge than the Blue Suns and Reaper-regurgitated-Protheans – good luck to you.”

Traynor let Aria's warning frighten her, before the reality of the situation returned to mind. She gave Aria a winning smile.

“If you think that fools me or scares me, you're not as good a judge of character as you think you are,” Traynor said.

Aria reclined with a triumphant smirk, taking a sip of her liquor. This reaction caused Traynor torecount the conversation up until this point. Not before long the pieces started falling into place.

“And you were just manipulating me into telling you about Liara,” Traynor realised.

“I have no idea why I'd want to do that. But Nina--” Aria dismissed,as she returned to a long past subject. “I'm sure I can put in a word for you. In fact, I could order it to go.”

“And this wouldn't be you trying to steer me away from Shepard,” Traynor said. “Because you're not threatened or anything.”

“No.”

“Because it's not like you care about her, or anything.”

Aria ignored this remark.

“Which part of this three-way tie do you think will work out best for you?” Aria said in a hard tone, studying Traynor's face.

“The part where I'm on the ship with the Commander while you sit on this couch,” Traynor responded quickly.

Aria looked at her. A nod of approval gave rise to a smile, which broke into an appeased laugh.

“Nina – another drink for my companion.”

 

 


	11. The Fight

**11** **– The Fight**

 

 

“Greetings, Commander,” Glyph intones as I step into Liara's office.

Liara stands at her main terminal. No response to Glyph's announcement of my arrival. Which isn't completely irregular; she's often very focused on what she's working on, tuning the VI's voice out and doesn't realise I'm there until I'm in close proximity. However, something in the air feels... off.

“Hi, just checking in,” I call out, coming up to Liara's side.

“Surprised you found the time,” she mutters, continuing to type without a twitch in my direction.

“You OK?”

Either way this is bad news. It's something in the data she's working on – some desperate situation: refugees, another planet invaded, another couple million wiped out. I know it gets to her when she allows herself to see past the numbers.

Or it's me.

“I've kept my opinions to myself this long. If you leave, I'll continue,” she says through gritted teeth.

It's me. And Aria.

I was hardly subtle, I should have prepared for this. Not thinking and just going with it always bites you in the ass. I've learned that lesson too many times to think the laws of the universe are gonna change.

I'm about to willingly jump into the jaws of her fury. But now is a good a time as any to have this conversation and I don't think her being pissed at me will resolve itself without a chance to yell at me.

“Liara, I think you should tell me what's on your mind,” I say slowly, bracing for impact.

“I've lived with you on a small ship for quite some time cumulatively. I know your routine.” she says, more calmly than I could have hoped for. “A pre-dawn stroll in heels isn't a habit.”

“I'm sorry I lied--” I start.

“Shepard, do you honestly think me a fool?” she explodes, rounding on me. “Of course I would know that you're carrying on with two different people. And I don't expect you not to move on with your life but I don't want to play games any more.”

It's evident from her rapid escalation that she's been holding this in for some time. I wonder why she waited so long to scream at me. Maybe lack of opportunity. I haven't been by as much to talk or annoy her, beyond operational detail. Reason for that is obvious: a lot easier to hide when you stay as far away as possible. When she seeks me out, it's usually in a medical capacity and she's so good at sequestering those parts of herself away.

“I'm not playing games. _We're_ not playing games,” I say defensively. “ _We're_ not together any more.”

“You were the one who ended it!” Liara shouts.

“Because I'm angry at you!” I roar, desperately.

“I'm sorry, Shepard, what did I do wrong?” she says, her tone lathered with sarcasm. “Help you find my mother and stop Saren? Recover your body and give you to Cerberus so they could bring you back? Fight by your side amongst all the horrors that the Reapers have brought to bear?”

“Not help me against the Collectors, even when you knew how important it was. How much I needed you,” I state as strongly as I can, my fists balled up at my sides.

“I knew it'd come back to this,” Liara says incredulously, her hands in the air.

“There's nothing like impossible odds and everyone calling you a traitor when you believe you're doing the right thing to make you desperately need someone you love to hold you up. Staring at a picture is a poor substitute for commitment,” I snipe bitterly.

“How can you say I'm not committed to you, Shepard? Everything I've been doing has been for you, for your mission.”

“Well, after that sabbatical last year so you could be the gatekeeper of every dirty secret in the galaxy,” I say, somewhat pettily. “High value gossip and blackmail. _So_ proud of you.”

“I helped you kill my mother!” she shouts, tears now lashing down her cheeks. “I'm not saying that wasn't the only thing we could do in that moment, but it was _awful_. And I couldn't have gotten over that and been able to look at you again if I didn't completely believe in you!”

“It didn't feel like when it mattered most,” I mutter, unwilling to crumble at the memory of Benezia and what I know that was like for Liara.

“So that's it?” she says. “I go my own path instead of blindly following you _once_ – and you're finished with me?”

“I don't know, I don't know,” I repeat, holding my head. “It's not just that, Liara.”

“Well what is it?” she demands, angry tears still falling.

“You never seem like youwant me. Really want to be with me,” I confess. “Like you could take it or leave it. Always looking to be let off the hook, every time it looks like we're starting up again.Which makes me think that you aren't as in love with me as I am with you.”

“I don't know how you can say that, Shepard,” Liara whispers in disbelief, reeling as if I had struck her. “I had never loved anyone, in a hundred sheltered years, until I met you. You were everything. And then you _died._ I could barely breathe, I was so...”

She lets a sob take hold of her. I want to reach out, I do. But my arms are busy hugging round my own chest as I feel my heart being crushed.

Liara manages to gain some composure as she braces herself against her terminal. I can see the heaving motions of her back become less pronounced and the choking sobs retreat into the silence.

She turns back around, refusing to make eye contact, to let me really see her. Instead she folds her arms protectively in front of her and stares at the ground.

“I think I'm just not the kind of Asari you imagine,” Liara says bitterly.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I say, taken aback.

“That you thought you were getting a promiscuous lap dancer or sexy commando,” she splutters viciously. “That's what all the vids promise, don't they? You must have been so disappointed with me.”

“Liara, I didn't want an _A_ _sari_ , I--”

“Looks like you've got two-in-one now,” she says defiantly.

“This isn't about Aria,” I start. “This is--”

“And given that you're so angry at me, you should have done a better job of trying to hurt me – Really flaunt your affairs in my face. Bring Aria onto the Normandy and _really_ humiliate me for being patient and just _hoping_...”  she spits through gritted teeth.

Her biotics flare with her fury,  illuminating her features in blue.

“Liara you have centuries to sit back and see if things “work out”. I don't have that kind of time.”

“We're at the end of the galaxy – None of us has that kind of time! But you're the only one getting... intimate with British subordinates and criminal overlords,” Liara says, dripping with disdain.

I feel like I'm woefully paddling upstream, caught in the undercurrent of her rage.

“I wouldn't be doing any of that if I you took a risk, instead of waiting for me to--”

“Of course I have feelings for you! We're in the middle of a war – and half of the time I should be breaking down intel and working on ways to helps us all, I'm looking for you,” she blurts out, her biotics fading as she realises what she's telling me.

“You're _looking_ for me?” I repeat.

“I just... I don't know where you are, and you've become so distant... I need to know that you're OK,” she says, attempting an explanation to placate me – but it hasn't worked.

“If anything – that's obsession. When you do it through a network of agents and hacked video feeds, it's stalking,” I say harshly.

“Shepard--” she whispers, before the fog of my stupidity clears and I piece together all the things she's revealed to me since I walked through that door.

“How did you find out about me and Traynor? Aria, fine. Hundreds in Purgatory and you probably have an agent in her entourage anyway. But Samantha...” I trail off, until it hits me. “Have you got cameras...?”

Liara flushes. I'm pushing her too far, I know I am. But I can't stop.

“No, of course not! I would never--” she denies.

“Invade my life like that? Yeah, right. Look around. Violation of privacy doesn't exist to the Shadow Broker,” I growl.

The blood surges, my biotics overflow, a field unleashes from my fingertips--

Six of her stupid motion screens are shattered.

Sharp intake of breath from her, smothered by her hands. Liara looks at the damage. Then to me.

Fear. Shame. Distress: etched in every line of her face.

“Then. How,” I breathe out hard.

“She keeps a journal,” Liara admits with difficulty.

“Her being a very conscientious comm tech, I bet it was scrawled on the back of a bathroom door in lipstick for anyone to read – rather than being hidden behind firewalls and heavy encryption.”

She tries to answer. Her mouth is open. No sound comes out.

“Liara. You're sick. All of this has corrupted you,” I utter with disappointment. “So much for keeping you honest.”

These words wound her. I knew they would. I wanted to inflict that pain. I wanted to be that cruel.

And I hate myself for it.

I turn to leave, shaking my head in disgust. “If you need me – Sure you'll know exactly where I'll be.”


	12. The Art of Forgetting

**12** **–** **The Art of Forgetting**

 

 

 

A march.

Determined. Single minded. I know where I'm going and where I'll end up.

Nothing could dissuade me.

I need to purge. I need to forget. I need it all out from under my skin.

There's only one person who'll help me and she's sitting on that damn couch again, surrounded by sycophants.

I stride up to her. Her mouth opens. A caustic remark laced with innuendo I'm sure. I don't hear it.

I seize hold of her wrist, and tug.

She comes willingly. She will again later.

I lead her out of the club – looking to the bathroom as we leave. I think better of it.

I don't say a word. Not as we hail a skycab. She knows what's happening.

Inside, I barely manage to sit still the entire journey. Outside, I know I am perfectly contained.

At the front of her apartment – it rises within me. She's barely input her door key-code when I unleash.

Neck, throat, face, lips. Ferocious and unrelenting. Wrists pinned back and body hard against her.

She melts, supporting herself against the door. I love it when she does that. Just lets herself go. No fear in succumbing to pleasure.

When she opens her eyes, the hunger is there – the black beckoning me.

Our want is mutual.

Punch door open. Stagger through hall, bouncing from wall to wall with fevered hands and lustful mouths.

With strong arms, I guide her into the living room, having her right where I want her before I prise us apart.

She looks at me, curious but wild.

I thrust her back onto the sofa. Surveying her varied state of undress from above.

I pounce upon my prey – crushing my mouth to hers; firmly planting her hands on my body, encouraging her to grab me hard enough to hurt. I feel the satisfying tear of her clothing from my greedy fingertips.

The hot flesh beneath welcomes me. A surge of pleasure arches her back. Her body clamps around me. Her fingernails scrape my scalp, latching onto a fistful of hair.

She pulls my head back. Her wet mouth to my ear whispering desperately:

_please_

She recoils – She's relinquished too much control. She's shocked even herself. Shock fuels her resolve.

In retaliation, she tries to assert her natural dominance – using the strength in her toned limbs to entangle me in attempt to lock and throw me from atop her.

I hold firm.

The sharpness of her nails, her teeth attacking me.

Aching pleasure that I deflect with similar tactics in more sensitive parts.

She grabs my head and inflicts a kiss that dissipates gravity and direction.

My head swims. I almost fold. She almost triumphs.

But I won't let her.

I go deeper, harder – until she is too enraptured to care.

She surrenders.

She moans my name as she sinks into me. I think this is what she's wanted from me all along.

I want her to see the power. I want to let her inside my head to show she'll never break me. I need her to know how being with her feels. I want her to know how much I need it.

The meld is everything.

We will join – It's coming –

I invite her to the defiance within.

By the black of her eyes, she accepts.

The warmth on the back of my neck from her hand is the only physical thing I feel as the transcendence of the meld takes over.

But

It's going wrong – I feel it slip

I'm losing control

I know that's what this part is all about. But I'm seriously losing it.

Fuck

It's Liara. It's all Liara.

She shouldn't be here.

I'm letting Liara in, embracing her, letting her fill the space of the ecstasy and meaning.

Just when Aria breaks through.

I can't stop it. It's coming too quickly now. It's rushing through me...

 

Stasis on Therum  
 _Delightful tightness in my chest, like being struck by the proverbial arrow_

Knowing her  
 _Stealing away behind the med-bay just to listen to her voice_ _,_ _enchanted_ _..._

Consoling her  
 _My heart breaking, holding her - her mother is gone because of me_

Our first time  
 _ohgodourfirsttime_ _I can't_ _watch this I can't_ _breathe_

Dying.  
 _Oxygen escapes._ _P_ a _nic. Terror. Liara's face. The wish for just one more--_

Illium  
 _Despite distance, e_ _verything feels worth it, just to be here before her_

Kiss under the shattered Shadow Broker ceiling  
 _All the longing of months without her_ _poured into_ _the embrace_

My promise of a life together  
 _Rare glimpse of hope. Only found in her_

Mars  
 _Complete again,_ _from her first touch._

Her Office  
 _Leaving quickly, how little she wants me, struggling not to cry_

Today  
 _Hurt. Betrayal. Clawing at my insides to_ _have it be over_

 

Our entire history reeling through my mind, every emotion of the moment recalled perfectly.

I know Aria can see every fragment of love, desire, pain and ache.

When it releases me, I collapse backwards to the floor: fighting for air and to regain control of my body.

Limbs numb, head empty, nerves electric.

I need to banish Liara to get through this.

I recover slowly as she recedes from the tidal wave of memory.

I fight the urge to cry.

When I roll my head to the side to see Aria close to me on the ground, she looks to be in the same state of shock. She's not moving. Rising chest shows she's still here.

Minutes seem like hours, until I feel within my own skin again.

My throat feels too raw to speak. But I must.

“Aria--”

“It's fine, Shepard,” she says curtly.

“I didn't mean--”

“Shepard – feel more than free to _not_ explain yourself. In fact, feel obligated,” she warns me. “I didn't need to see that.”

“I'm sorry you did,” I say in a hoarse voice, staring at a spot on the ceiling. I've been staring so intently I'm convinced it's moving. Which is annoying considering the room just stopped spinning.

“Whatever, Shepard,” she growls, hauling herself up with difficulty. “Just don't use me again.”

This jars something inside me. I sit up. A headache is the consequence of that daring movement.

“You use _me_. You take what you want. I'm your fucking scratching post because there's no one else you deign worthy that you want – don't be such a hypocrite.”

“But when I do it--”

“It's you, and you're Aria, so it's fine?” I surmise, incredulous. “Bullshit, Aria.”

“When I do it you'll never see someone else in there,” she says darkly.

“That's what love is like!” I splutter pathetically. And choosing all the wrong words. “Complicated and unexpected and it embeds itself right in there. I couldn't control it.”

“Shepard – Again reminding you I've lived more than your lifetime squared. There's nothing you can teach me,” she snarls, standing over me and holding herself strong. “You arrogant, infant human.”

“God, this was supposed to be simple,” I groan.

“Should've went to your on-board fuck buddy,” she sneers.

“Don't talk about her – She's anything but simple. She has _feelings_ \--” I growl, weary of her disregard. I pull myself up, very grateful for my legs to be supporting me in this endeavour.

“And I don't?”

“Not that you've shown!”

“I don't like playing second best,” she says defiantly. “I don't deserve anything than your full attention. And I don't want anyone else in your head when you come to me – it's insulting. There's your feelings.”

“I know, and that's why I tried to apologise!” I shout.

She doesn't have a quick retort to that. I don't know if she wants my apology. Instead she grunts and walks away.

I don't want to let her.

A swift leap and an arm around her bare waist, I pull her back and round into me.

My lips against hers. I try to give her everything I failed to in the joining. My lust, my satisfaction, my need and my growing addiction to being with her.

She pushes away. Sharply at first, but she stays within my tight grasp. I can see she feels it. I feel her anger dissipate, much to her annoyance. I know she's addicted too.

Now she has the power. And I just have to wait.

She tuts. She sighs. She looks at me like she could murder me right here.

Then it stops.

She rests on her bored expression. I know that's an act.

“You're an amateur at joining,” she says simply.

“Thanks,” I snort.

“You have no power over it,” she says.

“Evidently,” I agree, daring to caress the lower half over her back and wind her in a little closer.

“But you weren't wrong,” she admits, her annoyance simmering beneath. “There's no one I... _like_ on this sanitised piece-of-shit station that's good enough. We'll call it a novice error and leave it there.”

“Very magnanimous of you,” I remark, teasing a little, even in this dangerous place.

“It's not your vocabulary I fuck you for, Shepard,” she says sharply, not enjoying being mocked.

“No, it's not,” I say, shaking my head, sliding my hands into strategic places. “I might suck at joining, but the more human aspects of the activity – I am a God.”

“Goddess,” she corrects, flicker of amusement showing. I knew she'd like my arrogance. My illusion of ego turns her on immensely, and is succeeding for me now on the response of her body.

“Yes, sorry. Goddess,” I concede, my hands hard at work through the torn fabric. “Quite correct.”

Her knees buckle as I strive to live up to the moniker.

I'll make her forget.

And I'll forget as well. For the moment at least.

 


	13. Gone

**13 – Gone**

 

“Good morning. Hope you enjoyed leave, but we have another war to get to,” I greet everyone as I take my position on the command deck.

That last night ended so spectacularly was a betrayal of the day it had been. The elation carried me all the way back to the Normandy about an hour ago, with more than enough time to sing in the shower, scramble for food and skip to the CIC.

I passed out from exhaustion, emotional and physical. Aria didn't throw me out. When I awoke, I didn't even worry about not sneaking in during the night shift.

In the back of my mind I know that the trauma from yesterday still remains. I know that a deck below me lies ground zero. I know she was probably watching for me coming back last night.

I just want to be out in the black of space before I can even begin to consider how to deal with this. The stars help me think – and it helps if the only escape is through the airlock.

“Commander?” Traynor pipes up beside me, as I start perusing the galaxy map.

“Yes, Traynor?”

“Before we ship off, not all crew members have returned from shore leave,” she says quietly, for the benefit of the crew.

“Is Vega in a ditch somewhere?” I chuckle, very much hoping that isn't the case for the seven shades of ass-kicking he'll get.

“No, Commander,” she says, a hard stare fixed on her terminal. “Dr T'Soni is absent.”

I back down the stairs, coming to her side.

“Where is she? Commons? Huerta?” I ask, barely waiting for an answer before rounding the CIC and heading towards the airlock.

“I don't believe she's injured, Commander--” Traynor calls out, now far behind me.

“Get Garrus,” I order loudly. “Tell him to meet me in the docking bay, I'll see if C-Sec have any reports. We need to get moving now and waiting about so she--”

“Shepard--” EDI interrupts, coming from the bridge to block my path. “From the absence of her personal effects and removal of a portion of her vital data systems, I believe Liara left with the intention of not returning.”

“Joker!” I bark over EDI's shoulder. He turns rounds meekly. “Did you see her leave? Did anyone speak to her?”

“Sorry, Shepard, I was out... with EDI...” he trails off.

“She left while the majority of the crew were ashore for the evening, Shepard. I believe she did not want to engage,” EDI explains.

With a flash of anger, directed at Liara rather than EDI, I turn and launch into a quick march through the CIC to the elevator, dashing in like I'm under heavy fire and hitting the holo control to crew deck.

Damn  
Damn  
Damn  
Damn elevators.

Two Normandy's, one retrofitted – top of the line – and elevators are still absolute--

Arrive finally a floor below and sprint to her office – punching the door mechanism with the side of my fist, waiting too long for the damn thing to give way.

Finally opens and--

She's gone.

The room still looks full at first glance: tech junk, crates, furniture, wall of screens (six smashed). But there's no essence of her here. I can feel it.

Three portable terminals. Her books. The picture of her mother by her pillow. The M-77 Paladin I got her that she keeps under her bed. Even the damn VI.

All of it gone.

As it sinks into me, I slump onto the bed.

I check the bed, the night stand – look back at her desk. Nothing.

There should be a note. There's usually a note. It's just good form.

I try to imagine how she might have committed to text how detestable I am, and much she cannot stand to be aboard any longer.

This is what happens when you don't leave a note.  
  
But then, maybe, we said all there is to say.

I restrain myself – just enough – from inhaling the scent from her pillow.

Which saves me from potential embarrassment when a voice proclaims from the open doorway: “Not even the Broker can hide from Shepard and Vakarian.”

I look round to see the one person they would've sent. My friend.

He must have left vital calibrations hanging when Traynor and EDI ordered him round immediately. As a result, the main gun will probably backfire and kill us all. And I won't get to yell at him for it.

Garrus looks around. I think he notices that she's really gone as much as I do. He has an excellent eye for detail, and a visor scope for the minutiae. He holds out a hand to urge me back on my feet, which I accept.

“We'll get back on the Citadel – hit C-Sec and the Docks. You'll charm, I'll intimidate. We'll find her.”

“I don't think she wants to be found. If she's gone, she's gone,” I mutter, resisting the urge to start kicking her stuff around; crap left behind because it's clearly expendable.

Like me.

“We all lose it sometimes,” Garrus says. “And make the wrong decisions we wish we could take back.”

“I'd love to see you lose it,” I snort.

“Well, I've read about the concept lately,” he says, looking a little uncomfortable as he prepares to impart his new found knowledge. “It goes something like: _light will consume my heart with it's cruel ray, stealing my key to true calm_ _._ ”

“Too much time with Ash,” I warn him with a hollow chuckle. “Think what the Hierarchy would say about you spouting human poetry.”

“No more than the Alliance would say about their top agent going rogue for an archaeologist,” he says, a hand on my shoulder. “Human, Turian or Hanar – we've all got our squishy bits.”

“Hanar's all squish, my friend,” I say with a sigh.

“Can I surmise what brought this on from idle gossip, or is there something more I should know?” Garrus asks carefully.

“Who's idly gossiping?” I ask, hint of accusation in there.

“Not me,” he insists. “I gossip with intent. We'll just blame Joker.”

I look at her empty bed.

On another ship, far away and now in pieces – this is where my original XO cabin was. That's roughly where my bed was. And that's where I embraced eternity in the biblical sense for the first time.

“Can't believe she's left me again. Just like last year,” I whisper, almost surprised I let that out.

His hand gently squeezes my shoulder.

“We'll track her down. Talk it through. Sort it out,” he says softly. “We can take a couple of days.”

“No. She gets one chance,” I decide, finding my resolve and marching to the intercom. “Traynor – Call Bailey at C-Sec and get me a residence number for Matriarch Aethyta. Pass the call up to my cabin.”

“Right away, Commander.”

 


	14. The Father

**14 – The Father**

 

 

Garrus, knowing me as he does, didn't follow me to my cabin. He knows I like the head space to prepare when it comes to issues of methodical diplomacy and careful mediation. However, I've mostly been pacing and getting irritated by the sound of my own footsteps.

Damn you, Garrus. I could do with some lame wisecracks about now.

I'm running through everything I might say to her; what I should say.

Who I should be: the Commander, the friend, the ex who can't bear the thought...?

I don't even know what I want. Do I want her to come back and sort this out? Could we even work together after this? Can I win this war without her? Am I being selfish, or is she? Do I want to tell her that I always expected she would do this and to stay the hell off my ship?

Like that last part, everything I _shouldn't_ say runs through my head. The bad parts get rehearsed aloud so I don't feel it bursting out of me. It works for my impulse control. Sometimes.

But it's not going that way. She's not going to want to talk to me. Not if she fled in the middle of the night, without even a pathetic note.

If I'm right, and she did go to her father, it was because she wanted to protected. It won't be Liara I'm talking to.

Goddammit, I haven't rehearsed for that obvious eventuality. And---

\--Intercom.

“Yeah?” I call out.

“Commander,” Traynor says. “I have Matriarch Aethyta for you.”

“Thanks, Traynor,” I exhale.

“Morning, Commander,” Aethyta says, the restraint obvious in her gravelly voice. She's coiling back, ready to strike if I disturb the nest.

“From your tone, I'm guessing you know why I'm calling.” I'm trying to maintain a tight grip on my calm but I feel it slipping through my fingers like sand.

“She's here, Commander. But I don't think she's ready to talk to you.”

 _Fine._ I suck in air sharply. I expected this. Keep it level . Don't let her get to you. Just breathe. She's the one who can't be a professional, she's the one who can't be an _adult--_

“Tell her that I'm assuming that her period of unauthorised leave means an end to her service on the Normandy. Unless she has good reason for this stunt.”

That sounded harsh. There's no concealing my mood. I want to reign it in. That would be the smart thing to do. Not sure I can when it feels this close to the surface.

Muffled sounds as the Matriarch pauses. In the quiet, I hear my heart pounding for the fight.

“Dunno what to tell you, Shepard. She's not saying anything,” Aethyta replies, clearly trying to sound nonchalant rather than pissed.

“Fine. She's not Alliance so there's no other disciplinary action beyond discharge from the Normandy and my command.” The words stream out of me at FTL speeds and don't stop. “Which she's already taken upon herself by leaving like a coward in the night. And that doesn't surprise me considering her 'record'.”

“Listen, Shepard – I'm warning you that's far enough. Hanar's tits if you're talking about my dau--”

“No, you listen to me, Aethyta!” I snap back. “I'm trying to win a war against an enemy that has exterminated more races than you've got credits in your swear jar.”

I bite my tongue, all too briefly because I can't shut the hell up. This is panic. She's not coming back. I'm going to have to do this without her.

I don't know if that's possible. But she's not giving me a choice.

“I just-- I can't-- I don't have _time_. Billions are dying out there. Reapers at the gates. A galaxy to ally. Earth being eviscerated. If I can't trust my crew – they're out.”

Aethyta, for all her prowess and demi-Krogan temper, doesn't come back at me with both barrels as I'm expecting.

“If that's how you feel about her then she's better off as far away from you as possible.”

“Maybe she is,” I murmur to a dead comm line.

 

\--

 

“Joker – take us out,” I order my pilot, standing behind him on the bridge, the resurgent fury in my feet having taken me here from my cabin. I tried to walk it off – it hasn't worked. I feel more agitated than before the call.

“Wait – we're not leaving Liara--” he turns around to protest, before clocking my face. “Oh. Right, I guess we are.”

“Far Rim,” I command, striding back towards the CIC. “And she left us.”

The Citadel relinquishes docking controls on my ship and Joker eases out out of port while I resume my position on the CIC.

I brace myself against the bars, staring at the Galaxy map, plotting the relay jumps in my head to fill my mind with something; anything other than the thought that we're flying away from her.

Maybe she would have come back if I'd went to Aethyta's. Forced my way in. Saw her. Talked to her. Apologised. Got her back any way possible. Begged. Crawled.

Why should I? This was going to happen anyway. Better now than when it's at its worst.

I can feel Traynor's eyes on me from the side.

“Problem, Specialist?” I ask, tersely.

“No, Commander,” she says softly.

“Glad to hear it,” I say snappishly.

It takes only a moment to hang my head with regret, feeling immediately ashamed of my temper. Traynor's the last person who should have to deal with the blow-back, or the shittiest version of myself.

“Sorry. That's not... about you Traynor.”

“I know, Commander,” she says.

“I'm a little...” I meander, before giving up on the end of that sentence. I have no idea what I am. Still adrift in the orbit of panic, I'd wager.

“Commander, I know who you went to last night,” Traynor starts quietly. “And I wanted you to know you can talk to me. And I'm kind of hurt I wasn't your first port of call.”

“You are, Samantha,” I tell her genuinely. “You would be.”

She accepts this, her brown eyes warm with empathy.

“But I'd done enough talking,” I breathe out, turning away her gaze. “I didn't want to be like that with you. You don't deserve it.”

“Don't know if anyone deserves it, Shepard,” she says, barely audible to me, never mind other crew members.

The euphoria of this morning seems so long ago. The awkward danger of my meld disaster even further away.

Aria doesn't flaunt her emotions out where the world can see and use them against her. I can barely read her moods; if she's frivolous, annoyed, horny or sincere on any given day. She is the master of pretence and her default position is 'couldn't give a fuck'.

I saw a little of that mask slip last night. Her anger is easy to read. The intent behind the anger is less so. I'm still trying to unpick it – mostly because I put it completely out of mind to attempt to salvage the evening and appease her ire.

The question is – was she hurt or just insulted?

Either way, she didn't deserve that.

“But we should forget about this hysterical melodrama for now,” Trayor says brightly with a nervous laugh. “We've got much more important things to deal with.”

I give her a grateful, though weary smile for turning my attention away from my thoughts.

Always trying to help me out. Make me feel better, feel less of foundering amateur. Get my Commander hat back on. Couldn't do better than to have her at my side on the CIC.

If this was last year and Kelly Chambers stood where Traynor is now... she'd try to hug me and wouldn't let go until I sobbed out of all of my feelings – or until I Nova'd myself free.

Which would be a sackable offence, even with Cerberus. But there Traynor is, even with our own messier-than-intended entanglements, helping me to be professional.

“Agreed. We need to focus on our jobs. Getting to the Quarians. Ending a war. Killing Reapers. The rest is noise,” I say, building my resolve with each statement.

“Absolutely, Commander,” she says, with a reassuring smile.

Onwards we go. I have to confess, this operation is not one I'm looking at with confidence. The reports of the situation are contradictory and problematic, as a dear friend might say.

It's looking like the Admiralty board completely ignored my warning about a Geth war and thought that the midst of a galactic extinction event would be the prime opportunity to waste lives and resources on the offensive.

Meeting Legion changed the face of any war between the two sides. I hope Tali remembers that and has done all she can in the circumstances.

Dealing with the Geth – before Legion and the Heretics, before learning of the schism and thinking they were merely the foot soldiers of Saren and Sovereign – was so much simpler.


	15. Favourite Ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder to ease any initial confusion that this is an interlude, taking place out with the main timeline of the story though thematically tied.
> 
> And a warm thank you to all reading.

 

**Interlude – Favourite Ruins  
**

 

 

Empty bed. Her side's cold. She was there when I fell asleep in her arms.

I know I didn't imagine her. She's been here every night since the first we spent together.

I know exactly where she'll be.

I throw on semi-appropriate attire and pad across the crew deck from my cabin to the med-bay; glad no one's on deck this early to see me out of uniform. Also glad I chose not to move up to the Captain's cabin for the time it takes me to get to her usual hiding place.

It's been months – and saving the Citadel in between – since Anderson gave the Normandy to me. She's my ship, I feel it in every rivet. My first command and I couldn't want for better.

Except truth is, I just don't like the Captain's cabin. Too detached. And too far away from her hiding place.

Dr. Chakwas isn't even in the med-bay, that's how early it is. I follow the narrow bay through to the door at the back. It slides open.

Yep. There she is. Working at her desk. She's leaning on her hand. The wobbly angle of her elbow makes it look like it's going to give.

“My bed not good enough for you, Liara?” I tease.

She jumps at the fright. I didn't mean that.

“Shepard – Sorry,” Liara says, her voice cracking, as she turns to me.

I reach her and place a kiss on her forehead.

“Sshh,” I whisper, stroking her shoulders. “Hope you've not been sleeping here and sneaking back in... Is it me? Is it my snoring?”

I crouch down in front of her chair, my hands on her thighs.

“No, Shepard,” she says, gently caressing my jaw. “I had to work. I woke up and it was all running through my head... Just had to get it down.”

“You could work at my desk. There's a window and everything,” I say, really selling it.

“A window is nice,” she smiles. “But I'm an archaeologist, Shepard. Dark small places are where I work best.”

“I can accept that,” I nod. “As long as me waking up alone is infrequent-to-never.”

“I think I can manage that,” she says, taking my hands. “But I just feel my mind going so fast I can't slow to sleep. I'm worried if I do sleep, it'll all be gone.”

Liara pauses to yawn, as I scoot up onto her desk to save my old knees. She wipes her eyes and reaches out for her coffee mug. Looks cold to me.

“I'm still working through evidence from Ilos. It's all in my memory – since there wasn't exactly time for samples or recording. I think that I might have a chance of being taken seriously with this paper,” she says. “But then – _Ilos_ – it's so  incredible they might write me off as an insane person.”

“I doubt that,” I tell her. “You've got some very reliable sources.”

“Academia and the military...” she starts, grasping for the right words. “Not happy bedfellows, as I think you say. I'm not writing anything officially about Vigil, of course. Just taking notes.”

“Yeah, cause it's me that'll get in trouble for that one,” I nod. “We'll just blame it on Garrus' big mouth.”

I can see the change in her, the sudden shift to melancholy. I think I know what's coming

“I just wish...” she says wistfully, before shaking her head and refusing to finish.

“What?” I coax, staring intently.

“My mother. I wanted to make her proud,” Liara says eventually.

“You always made her proud,” I remind her.

“I know... But if I had not been such a joke in the academic community when she was alive...”

“Hey – You're not a joke. You're beginning. And misunderstood,” I say firmly. “Ilos – and you – are going to blow them all away and make them rue the day they wrote off Liara T'Soni. There's gonna be fans lining up outside conferences, autographs...”

It makes her laugh, even a little is good. She's been feeling the loss of her mother and how it came to be more and more while we've been out here tilting at windmills. Not so much windmills. The Geth are real, but definitely not what we should be doing – what we _need_ to be doing.

“It's not that I wanted fans as such. But to be recognised at something you work so hard at – like you... The vindication must be nice.”

“Yeah, it's nice. All the way out in the Terminus systems I still feel warm and fuzzy from all the appreciation. I think they appreciate me so much, they're leaving me to deal with the Reapers off-book and under the table, so they don't have to worry,” I say, the sarcasm dripping from my lips thick and fast. I didn't mean it to all come out like that.

“Oh, no, Shepard, that was stupid. That's not...” she shakes her head, embarrassed. “I meant... You're a Spectre. The first human Spectre. That's special.”

I resist allowing my bitterness at the current situation to poison my words and make this all about me, because it's not – it's about her.

“So you want to be the youngest Spectre-level archaeologist?” I tease, trying to be a little lighter.

“A little acclaim would be nice,” Liara says modestly. “Maybe some. And if Vasha T'Rana came up to me at a conference and told me that she read it – and found it _intriguing._ Well... that would be enough.”

“Who's this Vasha T'Rana and how many shotgun blows does it take to stay away from my girl?” I say, crossing my arms resolutely.

“She's the pre-eminent Prothean scholar of our age,” Liara says reverently. “And nearly a Matriarch, so you don't need to worry.”

“The correct response was,” I start with a hard stare, “that no stuffy academic or know-it-all is hotter than your gun-toting, ship-commanding, Reaper-killing girlfriend; who often gets you in a lot of trouble, feels bad about it, but makes it up to you in the end.”

I stretch to plant a kiss on her nose and hop down from the desk.

“I might have to write down that answer for next time,” Liara says wickedly. “I'll want to remember all the detail and nuance for when I meet Vasha.”

“Seriously though – This is going to be massive. And it's all coming from your brain,” I tell her. “You'll be the pre-eminent Ilos scholar, as the only one of them who's ever been there.”

“Sometimes, when I stop and read what I've done so far, it staggers me. I can't believe I was actually on Ilos. We found it. We were actually _there,_ ” she trails off, as if she's imagining it all around her. “The places you take me: I'll never need to finance my own dig again.”

“I take you other places too,” I remind her, quickly realising I failed to convey the dirty innuendo intended.

“I'm not sure the Presidium tower to meet with the Council counts as a date,” she considers thoughtfully. “As magnificent as it is. Next time we're on the Citadel we should do something – just the two of us.”

“I would like that,” I say, imagining what a real date with Liara would look like. We've spent so much time ducking gunfire and stealing moments aboard the Normandy, the thought seems quite surreal.

“Oh – and I would love to show you Thessia,” she says, suddenly excited at the idea. Liara gets up from her chair with a bounce, pacing like she's showing me around her homeworld in this small, dark room. “I'm not saying we should just abandon our mission and go-- but if work ever led there, or you got some time off, I could show you where I grew up. And my University: They have a Prothean artefact that researchers have been working on for _centuries_ to date accurately. It's the most fascinating conundrum as it has markers from several time periods, and ones we weren't even aware of. They're discovering new layers all the time – and it's so small, fits in your hand. And we _still_ don't know what it does. It's my favourite ruin.”

“Of course you have a favourite ruin,” I chuckle, her passion warming me. She probably has a top ten. “You are so damn cute.”

“Cute, Commander?” she repeats, giving me those eyes which show the sexual being just simmering beneath.

“Yes. Cute. Only you would have a favourite ruin. And I'd love to see it one day,” I tell her sincerely. “If we ever get detailed to something other than attacking Geth outposts, and we deal with the real threat. With the Council – doesn't look like that's happening any time soon.”

“They're scared, Shepard,” she says. “They hear your warning but they just can't let themselves believe it. It's so big it's almost incomprehensible.”

“I comprehend it. So do you. So does everyone else aboard this ship,” I say. “And if we don't do something soon, everyone's gonna feel like they're wasting their time and move onto something that means a damn.”

“That's not true, Shepard,” she says, unsure of herself.

“Wrex is going to get to random-headbutt-level of bored if we don't get him something harder to hit soon. He's thinking about home and he's getting restless. And Tali must want to return from her pilgrimage at some point, even if we are out here fighting Geth. And Garrus,” I sigh. “Longer I keep him here, more I feel like I'm holding him back. He wants to make a real difference, y'know.”

“They all believe in you. They won't leave,” she reassures me.

“I know they won't. But I think they're getting to the point they need to. Resenting the Alliance sending us into the black with sketchy mission briefs and a narrow mandate that misses the point of everything we all know is coming.”

“Well, I won't leave you,” she promises, a soft kiss on my lips to affirm.

“That a promise?”

“Absolutely.”

She pulls me closer, a spark igniting within her. Little by little, she's been letting her guard down. Letting her unbridled self come to the fore; censoring herself less, relaxing more. I'd wager being on a human ship has been good for her.

The kiss is broken by the one who always picks the best times to interrupt. I swear he's watching us. Actually, he must be to find us here at this hour.

“Commander?” Joker calls out over the intercom.

“Yeah?” I sigh, pointing a my finger to the ceiling in the shape of a gun for Liara's benefit

“Just received new mission spec from Command. They want us in the Omega Nebula cluster. Something going on in the Amada system. Kinda vague though.”

“I'll come up, take a look at it. Plot a course in the mean time and wait for my go,” I order.

“Will do, Commander,” he replies. Hopefully he managed to find his way to the _off_ button upstairs.

“I wonder what sights you'll have in store for me this time, Commander,” Liara says playfully as I turn to go. “Might get another paper out of it.”

I take a moment at the door, giving her a faux-exasperated look and over-exaggerated sigh.

“You're just using for me for my ruins, aren't you?”

She smiles. God – _Goddess_ – that smile. I love doing that.

Always want to be making her do that.

 


	16. Distractions

**  
16 – Distractions**

 

“All right, Joker,” I sigh, hand resting on his flight chair. “One Reaper down, ninety-nine hundred to go. Centuries long conflict resolved. Quarians back on solid ground. And we've got our very own Admiral back. I'd say it was time to get the Hell out of system.”

“Aye, aye, Commander,” he agrees heartily, adjusting flight course for the Relay.

“Shepard, I am not certain if there are only one thousand Reapers,” EDI breaks in.

“It was optimism, EDI,” I say quickly, before she ties herself in logic knots and mathematical calculation. Then again, that's fun for her.

“What's optimistic about a thousand Reapers?” Joker snorts.

“It is not one million Reapers,” EDI replies with perfect timing.

“Yeah, OK,” he says reluctantly.

“Jeff,” Dr. Chakwas says from behind me. It's odd to see her on the bridge. I can guess why as Joker shrinks in his chair.

“Hey Doc,” he mumbles.

“Hello, Jeff. I think you've been forgetting something,” the Doctor says.

“Dr. Chakwas, I have reminded Jeff of his obligation to see you at frequent intervals since he failed to check-in three days ago,” EDI says.

“I've been sitting right here,” he protests weakly. “Not like I was skipping town. I was killing a Reaper.”

“As I co-ordinate the warfare suites and weapons systems, Jeff, I do not think that excuse is entirely accurate,” EDI retorts.

“Yeah maybe, but I was flying,” he says grumpily. “We're heading out of system so I'll come down and see you later Doc.”

“Oh no,” Karin replies. “Don't think I trust you not to shirk this appointment.”

“I gotta be here,” he says, close to a whine.

“Commander,” Dr. Chakwas says, turning to my authority. “May I have permission to carry out Jeff's weekly monitoring exam on the bridge.”

“Aw, come on,” he grumbles.

“You may,” I respond. “It's all clothed, right?”

“Yes, Commander,” she says. “Non-invasive. Painless. But very important for tracking any changes in the patient's system. One wonders why anyone but a _baby_ would avoid such an essential procedure.”

“No babies on my bridge,” I say with a smile. “Joker – shirt off.”

“She just said it was clothed!” he says. “It's clothed!”

“Just kidding,” I wink to Dr. Chakwas.

“It would have been interesting if you had not ended the joke prematurely, Shepard,” EDI says. “To discover what Jeff's response would have been.”

“You just want my shirt off,” Joker says with a cheeky grin.

“Jeff, I would not need to resort to trickery to see you in the nude,” EDI says. “I have eyes everywhere aboard this ship.”

I don't wait for EDI's traditional punchline – I know how it'll work out.

Instead, I'm heading to the med-bay to check on Tali. She took a hit on the last mission: minor, she assured me. If Dr. Chakwas is now tending to Joker, I'm betting that Tali's taken the opportunity to avail herself of the medical facilities. I know she hates bothering doctors with suit repairs, no matter how many times over the years Karin's told her not to be so silly.

As I approach the med-bay doors, I'm mildly surprised but not entirely shocked to hear that she's allowed a certain squadmate to help her. Any excuse, Tali'Zorah...

“Watch it Vakarian! Thought your trigger finger was more finely tuned than that!”

“If I'm not delicate enough for you, we can give Wrex a call to play nurse. Maybe he can make you sit still.”

“He does look better in an apron than you.”

Can't help but giggle – quietly, though. I don't want them to know I'm lurking outside just yet.

Having Tali back makes the team feel whole again. Or at least distracts from _her_ absence.

Doesn't really. But I tell myself it makes it a little better.

I really enjoy watching the slow-burn with Garrus and Tali – I've been waiting years for it to get _Fleet and Flotilla_ on my ship with those two. Suppose they're my hope for a Normandy-ever-after now.

“I feel so stupid – I saw it coming. I should have ducked,” Tali says, annoyed with herself presumably about her suit rupture, and not Garrus's hack-job attempt at repairing her suit.

“Maybe when you figure out that move, you can brief me,” Garrus says. “I never learned.”

“And I also feel stupid not knowing about Liara!” Tali exclaims. I think the dull contact sound was Tali taking it out on Garrus by smacking him one.

I'm starting to feel creepy hanging outside a door, but now her name's been mentioned I can't help but let the conversation continue in its natural state.

“Was... _I_ supposed to tell you?” Garrus says hesitantly.

“No... No. I should have noticed. But I just spent so much time in the War Room with the other Admirals... and focused on--”

“Focused on the culmination of a three hundred year exodus and fight to take back your homeworld,” Garrus interjects. “Believe me Tali – if I was doing for Palaven what you were for your people, I doubt I'd notice if Shepard jumped out the airlock. You had a lot on your mind.”

I scrunch up my face. I'd notice if he jumped out the airlock.

“I know, I know,” she agrees. “But I feel like an idiot. Liara and I have been mailing each other a lot since last year. We've always kept in touch, especially after the first Normandy... well... you know.”

I never knew that.

Why wouldn't they?

My inner Shadow Broker contemplates hacking Tali's terminal while she's up here – only for the _briefest_ of moments – until I remember that I'd have zero chance against Quarian encryption with a Tali'Zorah scrutinised seal of security. At least not without EDI's help.

And EDI would want to ruminate on the ethics of the situation for ten minutes with my organic assistance before updating her morality core – Best not ring that Maw Hammer.

“She sounded so happy to be back on the Normandy and off that Broker ship. And she never said that she and Shepard _weren't_ back together, so I just assumed they were. They're supposed to be.”

“Yeah... that's not how things went down,” Garrus draws out.

“So what happened? Why _did_ she leave?”

Garrus groans.

“I can guess. Everyone on this ship can give you a guess. But no one's had the quad to speak to Shepard about it, so anything I told you would just be rumour and gossip and that's not fair.”

“Why don't you have the quad, Vakarian?” Tali asks, and I don't think I'm wrong detecting a flirtatious note in there.

“As renowned as I am for girl talk, I thought it'd best to wait for Shepard to bring it up. When she wants to talk, she'll talk.”

Think I've been standing outside the med-bay far past the point of being creepy.

I look across deck at the entrance to the office. Automatically, I _want_ to go over. If I let my feet take me, I'd be there before I realised it. But there's nothing there for me.

Now there's one less war in the universe to focus on, I need to start getting used to the fact that she's gone.

 -- 

First thing I notice in my cabin is the flashing unread mail indicator. In my bones I just know who it'll be.

Aria's been toying with me from light years away; priming me to make sure I'm ready for her next visit.

 

_From: Aria T'Loak_

_Subject: Briefs_

 

_Shepard._

_News has filtered through that you've got the suits and flash-lights joining hands. I'd say Bravo if it concerned me at all._

_But now that you're finished playing at the other end of the galaxy, it's time for you to attend to more pressing issues on the Citadel._

_If you want an example of such issues, please see my previous correspondence with detailed breakdowns of mission parameters, tactical recommendations, and reports of a missing pair of your black silk briefs recently found by a scouting party._

_As you can tell, I'm resorting to Alliance Drone Speak as it might be the only way to get you to do what you're told and get back here._

_Will be seeing you,_

_Aria._

 

'Mission parameters' actually translates to self-penned erotica. Not even particularly long or detailed erotica. More like a status update for erotica. Bullet points or casual thoughts. She must be listless enough to send a lot, but not want me to think she's so completely bored that she'd sit down and write a novels worth. Probably amounts to that now.

I read her mail on the voyage to the Far Rim, grateful of the distraction. The intensity of it made it best read alone. The frequency of it made it somewhat impossible to always be by oneself. But mostly it made me smile; gave me brief moments of levity in the face of what seemed to be an impossible task.

I've sent her back only one in return:

 

_Ms T'Loak,_

_Wrong address._

_Rear Admiral Hannah Shepard_

_Alliance Navy_

 

I laughed my ass off for the rest of the night. And it didn't dissuade her.

Unfortunately we made diplomatic contact the next day and I stopped reading her mail – for the sake of my own soul. I didn't want to hear distress calls and debate the lesser of two bad choices, when she's pinging through _My tongue is in your ear_ every twenty minutes.

As a result, I have around ninety unopened messages – her Alliance Drone Speak one being the most recent. It's relatively long, she must be impatient.

I consider replying to let her know of our ETA at the Citadel, but I'll just let her sweat, as aloof seems to be working out for me. I'd wish I'd known years ago that aloof worked for me.

I think tonight I may leave the crew to themselves, pour a glass of wine, get comfortable and enjoy my inbox.

\-- 

I think I'm excited.

I'm not even going to pretend that I'm going to stop off anywhere else on the Citadel once we finish docking. Just going to catch a sky-cab and get to Kithoi Ward.

I don't feel that my sex drive is even the force behind this. Not that she hasn't done her best to rev it up the entire time I've been away.

I think I just want to see her.

But as soon as I do, I'm sure the sex drive will take over. Probably will. Probably just delayed response.

Or it could be her dry wit and dangerous attitude that's got me excited to be in her presence.

Not because focusing on Aria is an intoxicating distraction from the absence so large I can barely compute while attempting superhuman feats, like breathing.

Rannoch was a distraction. Huge Reaper emerging from the base was a distraction. Brokering peace between centuries long enemies was a distraction. Even the “dissemination” of a dear friend was a distraction. Like it or not. All so I didn't look at the huge gaping hole in the old XO office on crew deck.

I don't want Aria to think she's a distraction. Even if it's true. If she saw that in my head... I wouldn't be walking out again in one piece. And that would be justified.

Aria is exciting to be around. It's because she's unpredictable and I can't help but say the most moronic things in response to her provocations. That's always a good time. For her, at least. For me I suppose it's a bit of a relief not to have all the answers.

I definitely need to stop thinking this to death. Because no sooner I'll be there, than I need to leave again.

-–

This is more exhausting than sex.

Putting on every item of clothing is a battle against her. Aria's particularly amused at the use of her lash biotics in this endeavour. Even now that I'm full clothed and a little breathless for it, she's unrelenting in her opinion that I should remain here in her bedroom.

“You just got here,” she points out.

“No, I got here three hours ago,” I correct her with a smirk.

“Only a human would think that long,” she drawls.

“What you wanting to do, Aria? More food, more sex?” I say, not afraid to show I'm a little tired. “Or do you want to break the habit of a lifetime and have an honest conversation? Or we watch a vid; maybe even go out...”

“If there's food or sex, I'll play whatever part you want, Shepard,” she replies beguilingly. “And don't pretend you don't want more too.”

“I think most of all, you just can't bear to be away from me,” I conclude.

“Shepard, it's not that your company's so illuminating that I can't get enough – I'm just incredibly horny and you've barely satisfied me to the best of your ability,” she teases.

“Yeah, you sounded it in your mail,” I reminiscence with a grin. Thank god it was only text, that I could read, burn to memory and then virtually incinerate. I don't know what I would have done with a series of explicit vid-mails coming through Alliance channels...

The obvious conclusion finally arrives: “Are you not sleeping with anyone else?” I ask curiously.

“Try not make one of the universe's great pleasures sound so dull,” Aria scoffs.

“Are you not fucking anyone else?” I say, crudely enough for her benefit.

“Why?”

“Just a question.”

“You're one to judge – you're juggling plenty. Though since your wife skipped out on you, you've got a lot less choice on-board,” Aria says. “Filled the vacant spot with that little suited friend of yours?”

“Again – not wife. And her name's Tali,” I reply, biting my tongue.

“Leaves you stuck with just the tech girl,” she says sympathetically.

“She's my Comms Specialist,” I correct. “And I've sort of been busy sorting out a centuries long conflict between creator and created.”

“I've been busy as well,” Aria shrugs.

“There's only so much sitting looking menacing you can do, before you have to pack it up and call it a night,” I nod, faking a look of deep concern.

“Not that kind of busy.”

“So you _are_ having sex with someone else,” I surmise. “Who?”

“And how would that be any of your business?”

“I could make a good case for it – But since you're hard-wired against sharing, I'm just gonna go,” I tell her.

She yanks me back down before I'm even fully upright.

“Why are you being so difficult?” she asks.

“Who?” I persist

“Wrong question.”

“What's the right one?”

“ ' _How many?_ _'_ ,” she informs me, a wicked grin on her face.

“You fucking liar, Aria,” I laugh, trying to push myself off the bed before she hauls me back by the back of my belt, like a tug of the reins.

“When the somebody you dislike having sex with the least keeps running out, you have to fill the time with those of lesser stature but greater numbers,” she says, like her logic can't be faulted, and purposefully looking away from me.

“You're a liar,” I tell her again. “I don't sleep with liars.”

“The wife lied to you plenty. I have sources,” she says, knowing that'll get me going.

I try to laugh it off rather than rising to the bait. It comes out as a hollow, bitter laugh as I stand up, more successfully this time.

“Shepard. Stay,” she says, edge of exasperation in her voice and her arm around my waist pulling me back onto the bed and drawing me closer to her.

“Can't Aria, I have--” I moan, as she turns my face to her.

“Stay,” she commands. “I'm Aria T'Loak. You don't leave unless I allow it.”

“Well, I'm Commander Shepard. I'd like to see you stop me with your weak biotics,” I taunt her.

“Weak?” she repeats with a blink. “Tell that to the bodies in my wake over a thousand years.”

“Vorcha mostly,” I say dismissively, enjoying winding her up. “I mean, they're annoying, but it's not like Sovereign or a Reaper Destroyer.”

“Fleet and Thresher Maw,” she casually disregards my achievements by stating the means at my disposal.

“Au contraire,” I say, hand dramatically in the air. “Reaper on Rannoch was in front of me, on the ground, face-to-face, proverbial whites of the eyes – and I took it down.”

“Did you just Charge-then-Nova it, or was there more of a plan?” she smirks.

“There was a prototype targeting laser that focused Normandy's weapons for a precision orbital strike,” I mutter rapidly. “But I did the firing. On the ground. Right in its face.”

“So: Normandy killed a Reaper,” she concludes.

I narrow my eyes at her, determined to not let her get me. “Hey, did you know I single-handedly killed scores of Batarians to save a colony?”

“Think I've heard that story once or twice,” Aria says, bored.

“And I not only made it to the Collectors home base, but I blew it up.”

“Shame. They weren't bad neighbours,” Aria remarks.

“What I'm saying is,” I start; pushing her backwards by rolling on top of her, my face close to hers and my hands clamped around her wrists. “What makes you think you can stop me?”

“Arrogant little human,” she snorts. “I've slowly tortured beings longer than you've been alive.”

“No you haven't,” I tell her with a smile. “You like to play big, bad Aria. But it's all an act. You couldn't take me.”

I give her wrists a squeeze.

“We should find out someday,” she challenges.

“We should,” I say sadly, mocking her. “But I'd miss you after.”

Instead of retorting, she indulges my victory with a groan. Then she looks back up at me. I console her loss with my fingertips stroking her wrist. The moment is enjoyable, warm – almost relaxing. She reaches up and seals it with a simple, prolonged kiss.

The kiss.

It's different.

It's an expression of something other than lust. It conveys something other than her wanting to tear the flesh from my bones to get to the inside. It's more than wanting to dominate me until I expose my throat for submission.

It's more...

It scares me. Legitimately frightens me. I wasn't prepared for that.

it scares her too.

For a moment.

Until perspective makes you realise that nothing is that bad. Until it's obvious that a nice kiss is the least of my problems. Until being kind to Aria isn't the worst thing in the world.

Until I press my lips to hers, trying to return everything she just accidentally disclosed to me.

On the second kiss the moment shatters. The pieces make it look like it never existed. A blip. An anomaly. Almost an abomination.

She pushes up against me: my body limp and hers determined.

She frees herself with ease and turns her back to me.

“Now you can leave,” Aria says. “I allow it.”

She beats me.


	17. Manhandling a Matriarch

**17 – Manhandling a Matriarch**

 

 

I'm flat on my back.

Not in a good way.

Usual visit to the Citadel: run some errands, meet with a few ambassadors in need, dispense my expertise to those who ask – and round it off with a couple of hours at Aria's before back to the ship.

Instead, I'm struck from behind by a biotic field between the security point at Normandy's docking bay and the elevator; right by the skycab station with no C-Sec officers in sight.

I don't have my armour on. No guns. Why don't I take these things on the Citadel any more? I'm a Spectre – you think I'd have the right.

Just biotics, then. Just like my opponent who hits me with the sneaky _slam_ from nowhere.

Winds me. Manage to protect my head. But dammit, I could do without this today.

I roll onto my front then jump to my feet in the direction of the blow, and hopefully my attacker.

“Aethyta?” I call to the Asari who I recognise to be my foe.

The Matriarch responds by way of shockwave – with a decent width and strength. I leap on top of a stationary skycar to avoid its path.

“Aethyta – what are you doing?” I shout, ducking down behind the car, grabbing onto it tightly as it's the only thing keeping for from falling.

“Kicking your ass, Shepard!” she growls. “And hoping to see the great Commander in action. Never met a human biotic I didn't grind into pink paste – so be real interested to see how this works out.”

“I don't want to fight,” I yell over.

“No choice. You got this coming,” she yells back. “You know why?”

I open my mouth to respond until I realise she's buying time for a cooldown.

I throw a pull at her, hoping to yank her off her feet. She easily avoids the half-hearted attack and chucks a warp back at me. I throw myself behind the skycar again, the attack deflecting harmlessly away off the side window.

I'm trying to play nice, using my weakest biotics. I don't want to hurt her, and as a result I'm not even touching her. I know she's playing to the same rules.

“Is this about Liara?” I shout.

Yes. Stupid question. Totally aware of that. But to get her talking at all would help.

“No, Shepard, it's cause you stiffed me on the tip last time you were at the bar!” she says sarcastically, dodging yet another wayward pull field from me. “If you wanna try fists-only, you need to stop cowering behind the car like a pussy.”

She slaps a singularity right about my cover position behind the skycar. I grasp at the nearest ridge of metal I can and hold for dear life. It's a long way down through the docking bays if I'm thrown over.

The singularity is too strong, my fingertips lose contact with the car.

And now I'm orbiting the black ball of energy, free of the Citadel's gravity. For a moment I feel at peace.

I really hope I can time the drop right; try to fall in a way so I don't die.

The black orb expands. Then contracts. And dissipates.

I fall, mercifully, in the direction of the ground. Unfortunately, right in the Matriarch's path.

“Aethyta – if you don't stop, I'm gonna have to be more forceful than I want to,” I warn her, picking myself up from the floor.

I really don't want to hit her.

But I kind of really, really want to.

But I'd rather not accidentally kill Liara's other parent.

Then she'll really never speak to me again.

“Like to see you fucking try,” she laughs. “My hanar ex hits harder than you.”

Aethyta tries to catch me in a warp field again, but I'm already engaged in my own attack and soaring past it.

I biotic charge towards Aethy t a, knocking her to the ground. Quickly, I leap on top of her, holding her wrists down by her side,  as she struggles with the knock to the head. Being  raised by a  Krogan  I  thought she wouldn't have went down so easy with a glorified biotic head - butt. 

Being this close to her now I can smell alcohol, which likely dulled her re flexes and ability to  recover quickly from a direct hit .

Good to know that she isn't that easy to beat. Never thought she would be. She definitely ranked highly on my personal death-match qualifiers in my head.

It's not just folly – it can be useful to hone perception of an opponents strengths and weaknesses. And should something ever go wrong – like today – you've already thought of how to beat them. Plus, I spend a lot of time in space thinking about things I expressly don't want to think about. The death-match brackets are a useful distraction.

A squad of human and Turian C-Sec officers finally rush in to see what all the fuss is about: guns drawn.

“Spectre Authority – leave us!” I order.

Some look disappointed, probably at not being allowed to manhandle a matriarch into their custody – but  skulk away obediently.

I turn back to Aethyta below me.

“Why are you hitting me?!” I demand.

"I don't know!” she shouts back. “The blood rage, the paternal instinct, the seven brandy's in the bar – take your pick!”

“I'll take a brandy,” I say, the aches of the fight coming on me now I'm stationary.

“If you get off me, I'll buy you one,” she retorts, the aggression leaving her voice mid-sentence.

I let her up. Aethyta hits the button for the elevator right next to us.

“Where we heading?”

“Gotta keep professional at Apollo and Purgatory's where your fancy piece might distract you – so Dark Star, seeing as Chora's is gone. It's terrible, no one's ever there. It'll be fine to talk.”

“Works for me,” I shrug. Had no idea that Citadel night life was in such dire straights.

–

“So, Liara didn't send you after me,” I say, diving into the conversation as soon as Aethyta hands me my drink. The music Dark Star is pounding. There's plenty people here to provide the chattering din, but it still feels half-empty.

“Dunno where Liara is,” the Matriarch responds, looking towards the dance floor.

“Not coming home before curfew?” I say dryly.

“She's not on the Citadel any more, Shepard. She's gone.”

“You're kidding...” I murmur, sitting back in my chair. Before a sharp spike of annoyance at Liara's stupidity brings me forward again. “She's just taken off – in the middle of the war – into a galaxy infested with things that want to kill her?”

I can't quell this feeling of panic. This is my fault. This is my fault

“Liara's probably got better intel on the safest places to be right now than any other soul in the galaxy. I don't think you need to worry about her in harm's way,” Aethyta says convincingly.

“Unless she's intentionally going there,” I point out.

“Yeah. Which is your fault when you think about it. She was never that reckless until you showed up. She was the ideal kid. Never any trouble, always doing the right thing, so polite and proper you never woulda thought I had anything to do with making her. Liked ruins and books. Never had to worry,” Aethyta sighs deeply, looking into her glass.

“But you're supposed to be looking out for her – for the other Matriarch's – they'll send someone else if you've lost her.”

“They won't. They don't know she's gone. And with Thessia right now...” Aethyta shakes her head. “They're not focused on one rogue Asari kid making waves with secrets and intrigue. They're just trying to avoid the massive machines falling from the sky.”

“Aren't we all,” I say tightly, still focused on where the hell Liara could be.

“And she was being real cryptic about it, but I think she's working on something big for the Asari command. Or the Alliance. Or both at the same time. I dunno. Can't keep up with the kid,” Aethyta says. “She's out there probably doing more good than you are with your 'visits' to the Citadel every time you feel funny in your pants.”

I grit my teeth. It's partially true, but it stings. I know Liara wouldn't crawl into a hole and forget about the Reapers, no matter what happened to her personally. She wouldn't do that.

“She sends me a vid every day. Compromise. Just so I know she's safe,” Aethyta confesses. “I got one this morning. She looked like she'd been crying... I guess that's what set me off.”

“Set you off into my face, you mean?” I say, easing my rapidly bruising jaw.

“You deserved every shockwave, Commander,” she chuckles. “I dunno what you think you're up to, sowing wild oats or some desperate human lifespan bullshit.”

“Don't think you can use my species' lifespan against me these days, Aethyta,” I say, recalling Liara's comments.

“That's fair, but it works to your benefit when the moral majority look at a revered war hero schtooping a notorious pirate queen,” she says pointedly.

She lets that land before hitting me with: “What the hell you think you're playing at, Shepard?”

“I just needed... someone. An escape,” I say, not even convincing myself with my answer.

“And Aria's the one to let off some steam with? You don't really wanna be playing with fire. I know you've killed a couple Reapers face to face at this point, but that's a whole other level if you get too deep there,” she warns me.

“Aria's like... the anti-Liara,” I force out.

“And that's what you want, Shepard?” she asks, a bit softly.

“I think it's what I need,” I say quietly. “Aria's got a big reputation. But she's not all bad.”

“You don't need to tell me about Aria T'Loak,” Aethyta dismisses, ordering over another couple of drinks. “I'm the same age as her, y'know. I had her back when I was a bad girl and she was still a good girl.”

“Now I just think you're trying to creep me out of being with her,” I shudder. “Nice move. Though doesn't ring all true.”

“All right, she was never really a good girl. She always had something behind there. Melding with her reminded me of the deepest darkest depths of the ocean. You just know there would be something beautiful and unique down there if you could get some fucking light,” Aethyta remarks, with a somewhat nostalgic look.

“So I guess you're over Liara and I if you're giving me tips with Aria,” I say with a raised eyebrow.

“What? Nah, that's not what I was doing. Hell,” Aethyta mutters, coming back to the present. “Think we both agree you should stay away from Liara.”

I don't know if I want to agree with that, so I keep my mouth shut.

“Being on that ship with you the way things were was no good for her,” Aethyta continues.

“That's why she left again,” I say quietly. Because in the simplest of terms, I think it was.

Aethyta looks dubiously at me.

“Thank the Goddess the rest of the galaxy hasn't picked up on how dumb you are, cause then we'd all be fucked.”

She knocks back her double, slaps some credits down on the table and leaves without another word.

Very different from the first time I drank with Matriarch Aethyta. Topic of conversation was the same, funnily enough.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN - Apologies for the lengthy gap in posting. Real life intervened and I lost time to write new stuff or to even edit chapters there to post.
> 
> Thank you to all reading.


	18. Interlude - Drinking with a Matriarch

**Interlude – Drinking with a Matriarch**

 

 

“So, there's this girl. Woman. Asari. Beautiful. So, so intelligent. Kind. Wonderful. The best thing in the galaxy,” I say, trying to impress the magnificence and importance upon the Asari bartender of the Eternity lounge on Illium.

I like this bartender – she's a Matriarch. She told me about herself. Aethyta. She doesn't talk like other Asari. She's blunt, radical and funny – and she mixes the best cocktails.

Definitely not like other Matriarchs. Although I've only really known one: Benezia. And she was pretty atypical at the time...

Benezia also gave birth to my heartache.

But Aethyta's cool. She's probably been listening to me for _hours._

“So you picturing that?” I ask her, pointing my cocktail umbrella at her.

“Yeah, I got a good idea,” Aethyta says wryly.

“Broke my heart and left me to die. Maybe other way about. Then helped bring me back. It's complicated...” I trail off into my drink, tipping it up and letting the last dregs of alcohol burn my throat.

I saw Liara today.

Two years – returned from the dead – she doesn't care.

I've been at this bar ever since.

“That's a little dramatic,” Aethyta says, pouring a drink for the Salarian beside me.

“My life is dramatic,” I insist, holding my arms as wide as the scope of madness.

I don't think that's an exaggeration.

“She and I – we were so in love. So together. This was the _real thing_. I've never had the real thing before. And then it's over – how does that happen?” I ask of both Aethyta and my fellow Salarian barfly. “Really – how?”

“If it's meant to be, it's meant to be,” Aethyta shrugs, cycling through the platitudes. I wonder if she knows something I don't.

I might be fall-down drunk but I can definitely tell she knows something.

Maybe Liara drinks here. Maybe Aethyta already knows about the formerly dead ex of Liara's that might track her down and annoy the fuck out of her again.

Cause that's all I felt like I was doing. I'm not a datapad to read, or an agent to flay. She has no use for me.

“Easy to say when you're Asari,” I snort, looking to my Salarian buddy for back up. “All the time in the world, right?”

He blinks twice, empties his glass and walks. Think that was insensitive to his rapid lifespan. I turn back to the bartender.

“I've been inside her mind. She's been in mind,” I point out. “I've seen it all.”

“Sounds like you've been humped 'n' dumped, kid,” Aethyta remarks, leaning over the bar.

“No, no, no. Wasn't like that,” I stress. “I died. Then I was dumped.”

“Harsh,” she whistles.

“It was harsh,” I agree, picking up my glass to find nothing at the bottom. I gesture the glass hopefully towards her – she shakes her head.

But then she changes her mind, pulls out a container of clear liquid. I have no idea what this is. Never seen it before. Must be the good stuff. I push my glass across the bar to her.

She fills it and slides it back over.

I swig.

Urgh.

Water.

What an insult.

Wish Grunt was here. He'd throw a head-butt for this affront.

“See that's her,” I say, pointing towards the glass. “You think it's forever. You think she loves you, and she'll support you and be at your side, believing in you and never leave you. But in the end – it's just _water_.”

Aethyta gives me a bizarre look. I don't know how she doesn't get it.

“All right, hun, give us your omni-tool. Getting you a ride home,” she sighs.

I don't argue, and helpfully flop my arm over the bar in front of her. My head slumps down on the surface to meet it. Feels nice here.

“That's great,” she says under her breath. I hear the tinkling sound of the omni interface interaction. When it's this close to my head, the noise kills any floating brain cells.

“Calling the first one in your book – Miranda,” Aethyta informs me.

“No, no,” I moan into the bar surface. “She's mean and she hates me, and she's _mean_.”

I pull my heavy head up to look at the Asari bartender.

“She's only first cause she programmed it – _while_ _I was dead_ ,” I add gravely.

“S'already calling,” Aethyta tells me, just before Miranda appears on screen.

“Shepard – what's wrong?” Miranda's holo says abruptly.

“See – _She's mean,_ ” I say in a hushed voice before slumping back over the bar, in a position to see Aethyta and my omni-tool.

“Shepard – where are you?” Miranda asks impatiently.

“Hey doll – and you are quite the doll,” Aethyta murmurs approvingly. “Shepard's been at the sauce. Can't crawl up to the screen right now.”

I flip Aethyta off with my free hand. Dunno if she saw. Don't care.

“Who are you?” Miranda asks, arms folded but I can tell she's flattered.

“Tell you what – I'll give a proper introduction when you come get your friend at Eternity on Illium. She's pretty wasted.”

“No – get Garrus, I want Garrus,” I decide, feeling a cold, sick wave flopping threateningly about inside.

“Apparently, she wants a Garrus too,” Aethyta shrugs. “Hope he's good at lifting.”

“Tell Shepard we'll be right over,” Miranda says, disconnecting the call.

“Told you she was mean,” I mumble into my arm, curling up for warmth.

 

–

 

The room doesn't spin as much when you look at it sideways. It's a nice perspective on the world. Everything's more honest sideways. Even Illium, which I completely hate so far.

I'm keeping watch on the door. My guys will be here soon. And then I can lie somewhere comfier than a bar.

“Miranda,” I say in a bum note as I notice her walk through the door. “And Garrus!”

I turn to Aethyta, head spinning like those relay things. “You gotta meet Garrus.”

“I think I'm about to,” she remarks. “And the stunning one as well.”

“Shepard, what have you done to yourself?” Miranda asks delicately.

Garrus comes to my side and I promptly sling an arm over his shoulder.

“This guy always has my back, he's my Garrus,” I say to the Matriarch, smiling happily.

“Your Garrus will be carrying you on his back,” he informs me, trying to balance me off the stool, “if you don't get some steel in your spine to stand up straight. And what were you drinking – ryncol?”

“Not far off it,” Aethyta says ruefully. “She really got started crashing the bachelor party. Those guys will tell you it's an honour doing shots out an Asari belly button with Commander Shepard.”

“I'm an honour,” I repeat, enjoying the sound of it.

I don't feel like much of an honour these days. No one really seems that happy that I'm alive; just mad I'm going after the Collectors with the team that'll give me resources.

_It's shit being alive._

I think I might have said that aloud from the look on their faces.

“OK, Shepard, let's get you home,” Miranda says, flanking me on the other side, arm tight around my waist.

I ignore her and turn to Garrus again, insistent on testifying to Aethyta on the purity of his soul.

“He's the best guy – seriously – he's Archangel,” I say, expecting applause.

“Yeah he's got the face of one,” Aethyta says, clearly indulging me. Or Garrus. Not sure... Is she trying to say my guy's ugly?

“You saying my Garrus is ugly?” I ask sharply. Or as sharply as one can with a heavily slurred voice.

“C'mon Shep, let's stop ruining the nice lady's night,” Garrus says quietly.

“No, hun,” Aethyta assures me. “Course not.”

I'm not so assured.

“He took a rocket to the face, I'll have you know!” I say defensively. “And he's _sensitive_ about it!”

“All right Shep: think she, and the whole place, got the message,” Garrus says quietly, trying to pull me away.

Aethyta just laughs. Don't know what's so amusing. Can't be me – I'm dead serious.

“I'm half Krogan, scars ain't a problem for me,” Aethyta says. “But maybe it's best you let your friends get you home.”

“OK,” I say, feeling increasingly docile between Garrus and Miranda's bodies. “OK. That's OK.”

“And dunno if you can get a hold of one,” Aethyta starts, as she rubs down the bar. “But take half a blended pyjak – put it in some tomato juice and down it in the morning. Never failed Dad. You'll be all right, kid.”

“Thanks!” I wave back to her, as the guys head towards the door. I seem to be going with them.

Feels an awful lot like my feet are dragging across the ground. But I'm moving forward. So that can't be right...

Maybe I'll just rest my head on my Garrus' shoulder and skip to the soft bed part...

 

–

 

Next time I open my eyes, the hell isn't over. I'm just being dragged back into my cabin. My head still lolls against Garrus's shoulder as they pull me forward towards the bed.

The bed. That's where I want to be.

Don't think they've noticed I'm conscious again.

“I think half the weight's in the armour,” Garrus remarks, a little out of breath. “She should at least wear civvy's to a bar in case this happens.”

“Shepard could pull off a slimming catsuit, don't you think?” Miranda jests.

“She's not pulling anything off in this state,” Garrus says. “Speaking of which: Are we just going to roll her into bed with her combat gear on, because otherwise... I'm not sure... Don't think it'd be appropriate if...”

I can practically hear his mandibles quivering.

“Suppose it's better if I take point on that one,” Miranda says eventually.

“This has just been a whole day of no one wanting to undress me,” I mutter, my mouth horribly dry.

“Shepard – you're all right. We got you home,” Garrus tells me, his free hand supporting my torso.

But he just presses too firmly in the wrong place.

“I don't feel very—”

They both seem to get the message, with a rapid about-turn to drag me into my bathroom as quickly as they can.

They deposit me carefully in front of the toilet. Miranda crouches down beside me and smooths my hair back from my face.

“Garrus, maybe you should let me handle this part,” Miranda says quietly, a hand on my back.

“I think I'm OK with that arrangement,” Garrus says quickly. “You call me if you need me.”

“Will do.”

Garrus evacuates the area before I can lift my head.

….I still can't lift my head.

“Where's he going?” I mumble, the cool metal rim against my chin.

“Somewhere he won't have to hear his Commander vomit,” she says, rubbing my back and tucking my hair behind my ears. “Don't worry. We're both human. We can do this on our own.”

“You stuffed me full of cybernetics and you're tailored to perfection,” I point out, surprisingly eloquent for my head being in a toilet bowl. “So dunno bout human.”

“Shut up, Shepard,” she says softly. “And let it out. You'll feel better.”

My head spins. An unbearable heat inflames my chest and back as I start to wretch.

Miranda stays with me throughout the most undignified display ever witnessed of a Navy Commander/Spectre/War Hero working for a rogue organisation.

I might be all those things. But at this moment she's the one making comforting noises as I throw up the contents of my voluntarily poisoned system into a toilet.

After some time, I'm spent. I slump back against the wall.

Miranda flushes it; grabs a couple of towels and runs them under water.

“Why did you do this to yourself, Commander?” she wonders aloud, running the cool cloth over my mouth and face.

I don't know if she expects an answer.

"The worst reason,” I mutter, swallowing sorely. “Heart's broken.”

“Liara,” she surmises.

“The only T'Soni,” I say stupidly.

“You saw her today. I heard she was on Illium. Information broker, right?”

“Yep. Too powerful and important for me any more,” I say wistfully. “Left me behind.”

“I don't think that's true, Shepard,” Miranda consoles.

“You ask Garrus – Liara was...” I muse, in a fevered state, “my everything. She and I – everything.”

“I know, Shepard,” Miranda says tenderly, pressing a fresh wet towel against my forehead and cheeks. “I know all about you, remember. And that's a pretty important bit.”

“It is important – And now I'm her lackey? Hacking shit and getting _paid_ for it? What is this shit about?” I say, jerking my head about so much that I immediately rest it back against the wall for fear of it falling off.

“You help all your people,” she says, working free my armour from my legs. The stark coldness of the floor against my bare thighs feels like heaven. “You helped her.”

“Course I'd help her. I'd do anything for her. That's not the point. The point was – that's all I was today. Two years – being dead – coming back. And all I was to her was the hired help. And after... I was nothing. She went back to work. _Thanks_ _for coming by_...”

Miranda un-sheathes my arms one by one.

“She might need time.”

“I don't. I woke up to the sound of your voice in that lab. And the first face I knew I had to see was hers. I drove through all of that – all of this – with her in my head. To see her again. I just had to get back to her. And for what? She doesn't love me any more.”

She encourages me to flop against her so that she can reach around and undo my backplate.

“Shepard, of course she loves you,” Miranda says, mouth close to my ear as she works the armour latches. “She brought your body to us to bring you back. And with the little I know, it wasn't easy for her. She wouldn't do that if she didn't need you.”

“Not any more.”

“Enough,” she says, pushing me backwards so she can study my face. “Being perfect means I'm always right. I guarantee you there's something bigger stopping her. She's in a dangerous place, straddling Citadel space and the Terminus systems, trading information on powerful people. You just helped her uncover a plot to _kill_ her. She might be protecting you.”

“Then why can't she just talk to me?” I ask mournfully.

“I think you need to sleep,” she decides with a sigh, freeing me from the last piece of my armour. My chest feels so much cooler. “Everything's better in the morning.”

I nod and push myself up with a great deal of her assistance.

We amble towards the bed. Eventually, blissfully, I crash down onto it and manage to manoeuvre under the sheets

“I'll get you some water, Shepard,” Miranda says, starting to walk away.

“Miranda... can you...” I force out, my headache cutting my words short. “Can you stay? Not for anything. I just feel like I'm going to die and I want someone to notice in the morning if I have.”

She laughs kindly and nods.

“Glad you think so highly of my perception skills, Commander,” she jokes, coming towards my bed and sitting at my side.

“There's no funny business – I know you don't think of me that way and I don't of you – even though you know you're gorgeous.”

“You're gorgeous yourself, Shepard,” she says, taking my hand. “And even if I was attracted to you, you scraped a barrel of ryncol hoping your ex was at the bottom. You're clearly still in love with her. And I don't play second fiddle to anyone.”

“Except me,” I grin, feeling pleased at such a quick retort in such a dire state of being.

“All right, Commander,” she groans with a smile. “Move over.”

It's a full scale operation just to move my body to make room for Miranda. I squirm, shuffle and claw my way over to the cold side of the bed ( _her side of the bed_ ).

I hear the _thunk_ of Miranda's boots hitting the floor, then she slides under the sheets beside me. It doesn't feel so cold in here any more.

“Sorry I said you were mean,” I mumble. “Liara's mean.”

“She is, Shepard,” Miranda agrees, her body relaxing beside me. “C'mere.”

She takes me into her arms and cradles me like a child. The warmth of her body and the sound of her heart perfectly beating has a wonderful, sedating effect on me.

“Have a horrible feeling I'm gonna be mortified in the morning,” I groan, first flecks of sobriety creeping in.

“I'll forget all about it, Commander,” she soothes, hand stroking my head. “Highly classified. Never happened.”

“Thank you,” I whisper into her chest, feeling the comfort of sleep wash over me.

 

–

 

In the morning I awake alone. The pieces, scattered and painful, edge their way into my brain. The fragments I do remember frighten me.

There's a note on the datapad on the side of the bed.

 

_Made sure you weren't dead, Commander – but there's work to do so let you sleep._

_Don't know what happened last night. Garrus doesn't either. It'll remain one of Illium's illicit secrets._

_Miranda._

_PS. Turns out – like most things – you can get pyjak on Illium. Mess Sergeant Gardner has already mixed your “cure”. I'll bring it up when you're ready – you don't want to be dealing with his chat this morning._

 

As I get up to go to the bathroom and drown my head in a sink of water, I notice the light flashing on my personal terminal. It can probably wait until I can see straight, but the persistent blinking is causing me severe pain.

 

_To: Shepard_

_From: Cerberus Information Processing_

_We're aware that your old friend Liara T'Soni has been hunting for the Shadow Broker for several years. We wouldn't mind helping her in that hunt, given the Broker's past work for the Collectors. We recently uncovered some information that might give Liara a lead on where to find the Shadow Broker's base of operations, but unfortunately, she doesn't have much faith in Cerberus intel. If you'd visit Illium and pass it on to her as a gesture of goodwill, we'd appreciate it._

 

Yeah.

I'll do that later.

 


	19. The Serious Question

**19 – The Serious Question**

 

“As always, Commander, that was surprisingly worth my time,” Aria exhales, coiling up under her black sheets. Even in the darkness of her bedroom, I can see every muscle flex and relax perfectly.

Still enjoying the now-familiar after vibration of pleasure, I collapse next to her and rest my head on her bare midriff. She pulls the sheets up over me so I can escape the chill on my slick flesh.

“I've been in the military all my life so I can see the kink in formal address during pillow talk – but do you know you never use my first name?” I ask, my head lolling up at her from my position on her stomach.

“You hate your given name. Understandably. It's so blandly human,” she says bluntly, her hand wandering over skin. Not inciting, purely for the contact.

“Nah... I think you've forgotten it,” I tease.

“Have your files, remember,” she says in a bored tone, her cool palm pleasant on my heated flesh. “Even if I didn't, I had two mercs tailing your every move on Omega. I know what you had for breakfast two years ago. And you don't want to know what Harrot feeds to humans.”

“That is... creepy,” I tell her decidedly.

I have the vaguest memory of getting street food from an Omega market stall years ago. I wasn't that long alive and found my hunger increasing exponentially each morning. I would have eaten Joker's leather seat if it came with sauce.

Miranda said that was normal. She also said the pilot's chair was preferable to anything supposedly edible on Omega.

I wrote her off as a snob, or a racist. I'm a soldier. I've had worse.

The churning of my insides make me wish I'd listened now.

“Why'd you have mercs follow me?” I ask. Moving the conversation along will hopefully ease my now unsettled stomach.

“Establish if you were a threat,” she murmurs, the last word sharp on the tongue. “Take it as a compliment.”

“And if I was a threat?”

“Bullet to the head,” Aria replies, placing a hard kiss to the temple.

I scrutinise her face. She's not lying.

“Nah, I was too pretty for that, right?” I joke.

“If I let every pretty girl live that could take my throne, I'd have been spaced centuries ago,” Aria muses. “I didn't get to where I am by giving the benefit of the doubt.”

“You didn't think _I_ was a threat?”

“Not really,” she says, barely stifling an obnoxious laugh.

“That's absurd,” I bristle, sitting up. “You were clearly working off faulty intel. I am _clearly_ a threat.”

Aria lifts up the sheets to cast a somewhat lecherous glance over my naked form.

“Strip the armour, the N7, the guns, the ship and the crew – and you're just human,” she teases, revelling in her own brand ofjestingcruelty. “No threat.”

“I should have taken Omega from you,” I mutter, trying not to sound huffy.

“Tried, perhaps.”

“Would have been easy,” I boast. “Especially now I know all of your secrets.”

“Not all of them,” Aria murmurs, her hand reaching for my jaw. Her thumb traces in circles as she holds my face gently, annoyingly having the desired subjugating effect that she intends.

“I'll do it now just to prove it,” I say, suppressing a soft moan as her fingers work my face and neck expertly. I can't say this doesn't bring back faint memories of the skills of Sha'ira the consort.

“Of course you will.”

“It was cause I was too pretty that you didn't assassinate me,” I tell her, voice fading, closing my eyes and letting my head drop back. “Because I'm absolutely a threat.”

“Of course, Commander,” she whispers close to my ear.

“There you go again,” I murmur, laying gently back down on her body. My eyes flicker open to see her above me. “ _Commander._ ”

“I have to call you something,” Aria says, her touch still soothing me. “Your rank gives you gravitas. And your common family name gives you status, if not an annoying purpose in the meaning of the word on your world.Either works, but I do so enjoy giving you a brief illusion of control.”

She finishes her diatribe with a kiss, then leans back with an annoyingly attractive smug expression. I know she very much enjoys schooling the human on the oh-so-obvious machinations of the world; not to mention illustrating her desired power dynamic in our relationship.

But something in me shifts. Something I don't think she intended.

All of the pieces I've gathered from her start to fall into place; all fitting together.

I blink. I look at her. Now I actually, really, see her.

The insights she has which she thinks pass right by me. She thinks she's terribly clever at hiding what she thinks of me.

The accidental tenderness: the kisses that express what her words would never dare.

The jealousy, the snipes, the attempts to undermine any other paramour.

How comfortable I feel with her. Whether it's the intense, blood-rushing furore; or the post-coital togetherness. And we are very together afterwards. She never leaves. It's usually me.

That of course doesn't include the times I behave like a dork, saying things to impress her or make her think I'm witty or clever and usually failing. Point is: I'm trying to impress her.

Her amusing but frustratingly arousing pursuit of me while I was beyond the Perseus Veil. Even with no response, like she was sending them out into the void – or to my mother.

Her admission that I'm the only one she 'likes' on the Citadel. Fair enough, seems a bit lacklustre. But I'm 1 in 13.2 million – and I'm not even here half the time. I choose to believe what she was simply trying to say was that she likes me, period.

And the raw passion she has for me that might appear to be a surface-based animal attraction, but with the length of time we've been seeing each other now seems more like natural chemistry.

The final picture startles me.

I did not expect her.

I get out of bed, pulling a layer of the smooth sheets with me.I wrap it around myself a little too frantically

I start to pace at the foot of the bed, working through all of the pieces. Almost convincing them to _not_ fit together. It doesn't make sense that they would.

Amused at my sudden flurry of activity, she pours a glass of Noverian Rum that's by her bedside (a present that I went to shameful lengths to bring her).

She watches me as she sips. I feel her eyes all over me.

“Shepard, you going to spit it out? Or would it make this all easier if I just said your damn name?” she teases.

“I can't believe I'm the one that's gonna start this conversation – and this is me apologising at the out for being _that_ girl – when I'm not really sure why. But I can't help but think that's there's more to _this_ than you and I are acknowledging?” I ramble, almost like a formal address to Command.

She takes another drink: very smoothly, very calmly. Like she did not hear me at all.

“Are we something more?” I ask, a little impatient.

I stare at her as the words settle in the air. Her bemused expression barely changes. She leans over, tops up her rum. Then she turns over a fresh glass, pouring a measure. She holds out it to me.

“If you want to get more serious, I'm fine with it. If you want things to stay as they are, I'm fine with it,” she says, not betraying any emotion. “Either way just let me know.”

I reach out, my fingers grazing hers as I take the tumbler. The expression still hasn't changed. I take a grateful gulp, glad of the alcohol burn.

“Really? You're interested in being more serious? Like, properly together?” I say, my voice raising several octaves.

“Shepard--” she says, with clipped tones of impatience, perhapseven a hint of embarrassment by the darkening shade of her skin. “I _said_ – I was fine with it.”

“All right,” I reply, now wondering where the hell my curiosity has taken me.

Serious. Relationship. Aria T'Loak.

If anyone can tell me how to add all of that up and get how this is actually happening – and how I _made_ this happen – I would be grateful.

“Don't go over-thinking this, Shepard,” she says sharply, as she notes my attention far away from the tangible present.

“Course not,” I shake my head, snapping back to reality.

“I don't have to take these things so seriously as you do,” she says defensively. “You'll find most Asari just wait out the seventy to eighty years with a human, rather than break it off. As a species, you're very into relationship drama and it's just not worth the hassle when you can just let it expire instead.”

And now I've been brought down planetside with a bump. I'm not sure I believe her writing off any significance of this, but can't say it doesn't hurt a little.

“Aria, you've probably got as much time left as me. Even disregarding the Reapers.”

“Did you just call me _old,_ Shepard?” she murmurs, her stare going right through me.

Her incredulity gives rise to the predator within. The colour of her eyes, the shape of her face, the arch of her body all changes when she slides into huntress mode. Downing her drink, she flicks off the sheets and crawls towards me.

“With all the experience and wisdom that comes from nearly a millennium,” I poorly attempt to placate.

Yeah, like charm's gonna get me out of this one.

She prowls, nude and glorious, towards the end of the bed. Now I'm in her sights it surely can't do any more damage to push...

“And I know you've seen the inner depths of the galaxy in that time,” I continue, as she reaches me. “And it's surprising that you hide so much when we meld. I would've thought you would want to impress me...”

Her hand travels up my throat, as if it's ready to clench and squeeze out my life, but she carries on. Weaving her fingers within my bright red hair – and tugging a handful to tilt my head back.

“I don't have to impress you, Shepard,” she rasps, her teeth at my neck.

“Must be my mistake,” I say coyly, my breath shallow. “I always thought the meld was about giving of yourself... becoming intimately aware of another soul... Sharing your knowledge and your experience. But I suppose that's just how some other Asari put it.”

I do feel a pang of hurt (of hatred of myself) for invoking Liara like that. I push her away instantly, as if I fear that Aria might see.

“Children and their romantic ideals,” Aria laughs softly, whipping the wrapped bed sheet off me in a single motion.

She pulls me onto the bed – slowly, ever so agonisingly slowly – with her biotics moulding me to her liking. On my back once again, she straddles me, her nails digging into my stomach.

“You'll feel every blow, every bite, every drop of blood; all the lies, wonder and horror of the centuries when I've finished with you,” she whispers, as her mouth claims mine.

 

\--

 

Aethyta was right.

Not who I want to be thinking of at this moment, with her gravelly voice and obvious connections to another. But she was goddamn right.

It is fucking beautiful down there.

And Aria only afforded me a glimpse of the depths. But that she went that far, even when she knew she was being manipulated into it... I don't think this feels like a mistake.

Aria rests her hand on my chest. I wonder if it's my heartbeat that has her attention. It's still wildly – almost concernedly – fast.

If this is what being _that_ girl and asking _that_ question gets you, then it's definitely recommended.

“So what does this mean? Practically speaking, for us?” I wonder aloud, hoping for her input.

“Shepard...”

“Like monogamy?” I suggest.

“You always manage to make everything boring,” she groans; immediately disengaging her limbs and sitting up to finish her drink.

“As in we're no longer sleeping with anyone else?” I prod, looking up at her.

“Shepard,” Aria sighs, exasperated. “I was never sleeping with anyone else.”

“Yeah, thought not,” I reply smugly.

I think I annoyed her too much.

And by the Noverian Rum dripping down my face and stinging my eyes, I know I did.

“Hey – you might be annoyed at me in all my glory – but don't waste the Rum I got you. Not cheap, not easy.”

She laughs. “Relax, Shepard. There's a store in the ward that deals in off-world delicacies. I bought out his supply a couple weeks ago.”

“What? You couldn't have told me? I got you that bottle from _Noveria_ itself _,_ ” I protest, getting a little red at the memory of explaining my purchase to Garrus when we should have been elsewhere.

She runs her tongue down my jawbone, nipping at my chin. “And it tastes all the better for it.”

“Doubt it,” I grumble, making a deliberate show of wiping my face on her expensive sheets.

“Don't know why you think that'll annoy me,” she says amused. “You're sleeping on that side tonight and I'm chucking them in the morning.”

“Might not stay the night,” I threaten idly.

“Oh, but Shepard,” Aria purrs, rolling herself on top of me, pinning me down with a kiss. “But we're _serious_ now. That's what you wanted. You would be a very bad girlfriend if you left me so soon.”

I feel a little jolt go through me when she says _girlfriend._ How stupid, how childish... I know she was mocking me, but it honestly felt exciting.

“Yeah, commitment means smelling like booze,” I snort, trying not to show that I'm fussed.

“Commitment means waiting patiently for you to expire,” she teases, feeding me another hungry kiss.

As she starts to work her nails down my flesh, dragging me into her pleasure thrice more, I can't stop her words repeating in my head.

As cruel and blunt as it may have sounded, I think of the real intent behind it – with me until I die.

And I wonder as if she really means it.

 


	20. Interlude - Commitment

**Interlude – Commitment**

 

 

Now. Speak now.

It is a beautiful thing to lie in Liara's arms, staring up through my cabin's skylight at the galaxy passing by. Her hands are interwoven with mine. All of my flesh pressed against hers. Her lips on my forehead.

To be with her again after Cerberus bringing me back, in the midst of the Collectors abducting colonies and just after killing the most powerful Yahg in the galaxy feels like a gift we had to work _very_ hard for. Not that I want to ruin that gift...

But I need to speak. Now.

“How come whenever I bring up blue babies you have nothing to say?” I blurt out.

It's taken me ten minutes to say that aloud. It's been driving through my head since we finally came to rest in post-coital bliss. Now it has tumbled free in the most ineloquent manner possible.

It was hungry, passionate, tender and bitter-sweet to be intimate with her again. Every time feels like it might be the last time. That is a feeling hasn't changed. It feels far too right to be real.

On the SR1 I was constantly skirting too closely to death – but too damn busy to notice. Given my first ship to command, becoming a Spectre, hunting Saren, discovering the Reapers: I was so focused and everything moved so quickly that I barely had time to consider not being invincible.

But when it stopped: Sovereign destroyed and Citadel saved, it was then I felt Death had a seat saved for me. Floating about in the Terminus systems with a sketchy mandate and a fobbed off assignment has a way of making you feel expendable; and then realise that you ran the well of luck dry with the stunts you pulled.

It scared the Hell out of me. I wouldn't be here to scrap, and claw, and rail against the enemy I knew was coming. Without me, I didn't know who would stand against the Reapers. I saw the beacons. I tried to warn the Council, the Alliance – anyone who crossed my path. Everything bar climbing on soapbox in the middle of the Presidium (that sort of thing is best left to the Hanar).

But I was also terrified that I'd leave Liara behind; that I'd never touch her, hold her, have her again. That made every time feel like the last. It's an edge of desperation and desire to keep a slippery grip on the present.

Turns out I wasn't wrong.

It's two years later and I finally get to be with her again. I feel that she's holding back from me – I could feel it in the joining. There's a part she's shuttered off. She's not the naïve and innocent researcher who threw open herself so gladly.

I left – I died and I couldn't really control that – but I left, and the pain changed her. And I don't know if she wants to trust me with the whole of her once more.

Regardless, it was wonderful. Being intimate and melding with her was truly a wonder I never thought I'd experience again.

But there was a shard missing for the precious whole.

“I didn't think... that you were serious, Shepard,” she says finally, trying to kept her voice as even as possible.

Dreaming of a life together with commitment and progeny really makes for a funny joke. The way she brushed me off certainly was.

“I was serious. I am serious,” I say quietly, tracing my fingernails over her arms, hoping to elicit a response.

“It is a lovely thought,” she admits carefully. “It's optimistic.”

“Cause I'm dying tomorrow or because we'll never make it there?” I say, trying to make that sound light and good-humoured, but failing miserably.

“Shepard...” she shushes, kissing the top of my head.

“I died once. I'm not doing it again in a hurry,” I tell her sincerely.

“I know. I'm not sure it's what we should be thinking about in our current situation.”

“I wasn't suggesting we take maternity leave in the face of a monumental galactic threat,” I say. “But talking about the possibility seriously might be nice.”

“Children are not something I've ever thought about seriously,” Liara sighs.

“You don't want them?” I say, attempting to conceal my disappointment.

“No... no. It's not that. I'm young, Shepard. Barely a maiden,” she reasons. “And my mother had me so late, I just never felt an urgency about it all.”

“Oh. OK. I'll just ask you in three hundred years to see if you're ready,” I snort.

She cuddles me tighter. To be enclosed so firmly makes everything better.

Until I remember that was just her way to avoid the subject.

“I will come back,” I say softly, turning myself round to face her. She looks unsure, almost frightened. “I'll come back from the Omega-4 relay. And then I want everything I've promised for us.”

“Well, if you don't, I'll have to find another shadowy organisation with billions of credits to burn,” she teases, brushing my matted and sweat-soaked hair from my forehead.

Still not taking this seriously.

“Shouldn't be difficult to find such a group with my resources. Or particularly hard to apply some pressure,” she muses. “The little I've been able to look at so far is staggering. The Broker really does hold the balance of power in a datapad.”

“Talking about yourself in the third person,” I comment. “Must be going mad on that ship already.”

“I meant the position,” she says awkwardly. “I don't really think of myself as the Broker just yet.”

“Just wait for your first assassination,” I nod. “That'll be you earning your stripes.”

“What stripes?” she responds quizzically.

“Old military thing,” I dismiss.

“I wouldn't assassinate anyone,” Liara says slowly.

“I don't think you can say what you would do with that amount of power,” I tell her.

“But you believe I would kill someone?”

“You've killed plenty,” I say, off-the-cuff, not realising how it sounds until it's out of my mouth.

“In combat!” she defends. “On your orders, I might add.”

“I know, that wasn't fair,” I admit. “But that's case in point – being in a command situation doesn't make for easy decisions.”

“Educate me, Commander,” she challenges with a teasing flourish.

I prop myself up on my elbows. “Say you have intel about a new terrorist group planning an attack. Your agents are on location, strictly recon. And the leader – a paranoid recluse on whom the organisation was founded – turns up. It's a golden chance to eliminate him and stop the planned attack with civilian casualties. What do you do?”

“In that conveniently contrived situation... If killing one could cripple a terrorist group and prevent an attack... I think that would be the right decision,” she says carefully.

“Exactly,” I say. “But you've just executed a person without due process or trial based on what you _believe_ will happen in the future. They're dead because of something they haven't even done.”

“But it would save innocent lives,” she protests.

“Exactly,” I nod. “But that's the power of the network of agents you have and the intel you receive. And you're just one person. I have – _had_ – the Council on my back. STG has oversight. The Corsairs have bureaucracy to contend with. You've only got you.”

“I've also got you. Watching over my shoulder,” she says. “Figuratively or not. I have learned a lot from you, Shepard. Watching you make decisions with little time for forethought, and with wide-reaching consequences.”

“It's an art,” I say casually, before soberly realising the history that her statement was based on. “That never gets any easier.”

A chill sweeps over me. It's not the cold. It's the faces.

Liara notices and tucks the sheets tightly around our bare bodies.

“I love being back here,” she whispers. “I would be here if I could.”

“Different ship. Stronger hull, better drive core and leather seats,” I murmur, still partially lost in thought.

“Same name. Same Commander,” Liara says with a smile and a tight squeeze. “Good enough for me.”

I wish it was so.

I still don't feel satisfied with the morsel of conversation about the wishes biology has been burned into my brain.

Maybe it's me. It hasn't been two years for me, not really. I woke up in the same mindset I was when the Collectors took out the original Normandy. I woke up still hopelessly in love with her, like no time had passed. My vision of the future hasn't changed.

That's clearly not the case for her.

“Look – I know you don't want to answer the 'big future' questions,” I start. “But do you want to be with me? Like we were before I...”

She gives me that expression that usually prefaces: _It's complicated, Shepard..._

But to my surprise, she cups my face and looks intently into my eyes.

“I'll make you a promise,” she says. “You come back from the Omega-4 relay and we will. It might not be like before. But we should try.”

“And the blue babies?” I ask hopefully, trying to give her a little leeway with my playful tone.

I can't help myself.

“That – I will think about very seriously.”


	21. Not Blue

**21 – Not Blue**

 

 

“Nice to get around to that rain check,” Samantha says brightly, looking out over the Presidium from the benches under the trees, just off the Commons Marketplace.

I wish that's what it was, just picking up a belated lunch date. She is happily eating a curiously named delicacy, supposedly of Turian origin but simulated for human consumption.

Looks a little too grey for me.

“Smart move meeting here,” she says. “I can't walk by that game stall without stopping. And you don't have to hear about what I bought for the next hour.”

“It's good you've been getting off-ship,” I nod. The tension holds my body rigid.

“Mind you,” she says, chewing a rather large bite. “You're missing the model ship kiosk you like. We could go back there if you want to check it out. And just avoid the games. You don't pay me enough to splurge.”

I look at my Omni-tool. I should be meeting someone shortly.

It has to be now. Or never. It can't be never because I promised Aria.

I didn't strictly _promise_ her, but I think it was implied this had to happen.

So it has to happen now. Because I can't take this back on to the Normandy. It's safer out where there are people.

Because wh y ? She'll hit me? Try to cause a scene?  Crash the ship's comms systems?

She wouldn't. She's reasonable. And a consummate professional. Apart from the sneaky glances at my  rear when I'm on the CIC.

I think it's because I've never done this before.  My first broke up with me – and that was because her parents were being transferred off - station to colony garrison.

It was heart-breaking. I begged for it not to end. Insisted we could do long distance. I was young,  un - jaded and  I didn't think that light years  meant anything, even with n o mode of transportatio n.

Last I heard Melanie's parents were posted on Horizon.

I can't believe that's the first time I've thought about that.

I could try and forgive myself for it – I had a lot on my mind, recently back from the dead and was facing an unknown enemy. And then there was Ash...

But I'm not going to. I should have remembered; could have found out if she stayed on there. I know colony life was what she wanted, she talked about it often enough; while I wanted a career with the Alliance. Looking back, it never would have worked with us. But you don't know that when you're fifteen.

That's my only proper experience of a break-up. Any of the sparse encounters over the years were been measured in hours, not weeks and thus didn't qualify.

And Liara: I just let go.

But then why do I need to do this at all?

There could be a situation where it isn't necessary.

Maybe... could be... the three of us.

Crazy, yes, but I could completely avoid the impending awkward conversation, and replace it with another awkward conversation that might have a happier ending.

Samantha thinks Aria's hot. That should be enough.

And Aria did reveal some begrudging respect for Traynor when she told me about Traynor showing up at Purgatory. I think Aria started the diatribe with intent to make fun of Samantha, but to my ears it seemed like Aria enjoyed the company of another human. Though Aria probably didn't kill her as favour to me.

We would need to use Aria's shower for the three of us. My cabin's one is just too small. And EDI's about. Which probably was the kink for Samantha, now I think about it.

But with Aria's fury from my meld-fail before going to Rannoch, I think it's safe to say she's a touch on the possessive side.

And I think that Aria's a little too intense and black-eyed for Samantha's brand of love-making.

No. God.

No.

What the Hell?

Jesus, this idiotic 'solution' is too far even for my current mode of over-sexed, deviant behaviour.

Goddess. _W_ _hat would Liara think of me?_

Not the point.

It would be highly inappropriate to suggest a three-way, and likely extremely dangerous to Samantha's health.

Even though it looks like that simul-Turian hoagie montrosity is taking care of that right now.

“Samantha,” I say suddenly, grabbing her free hand.

“Shepard,” she says, startled, with a full mouth.

“We have to break up,” I say decisively.

She takes a moments pause. Mouth is still full. She chews rapidly and swallows.

“Break up what?” she echoes.

“Us...” I say quietly. The puzzled look on her face makes me wonder if her translator's broken.

Then I remember we both speak human English. Right.

“I thought we weren't serious, Commander,” she says nonchalantly, wiping the ends of her mouth with a napkin.

Thank God: at least she's put down the hoagie from hell. My Carnifex is primed to make sure it dies.

“I know,” I nod, trying to keep a solemn expression in the face of her indifference. “I'm meaning anything... We have to stop anything.”

“Oh,” she says, her brow furrowing slightly. “Is it anyone on the Normandy? Is there a problem there?”

“No, no problem,” I say.

“OK.”

I may be an amateur at this, but it seems to be going too well. She seems fine with it.

“It's Aria, isn't it? She doesn't want me around you any more. Well, like _that_ anyway,” Traynor accuses. “Not much she can do about work.”

“No. Well, yes, it is about her but--”

“I knew she was threatened,” Traynor laughs bitterly.

“She usually does the threatening,” I mumble awkwardly.

“I recall. Fondly,” she says pointedly, her steeled façade starting to slip a little as she hugs her arms around her.

“Heard about that,” I contribute uselessly.

“Look, Shepard. I think you being with Aria is probably one of the most stupid things you've done in your illustrious career. But you're clearly going through _something_ and she's obviously giving you something no one else can,” she says, sucking air in through her teeth. “Please – be careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“Aria,” she says in a low voice. “I'm not saying you don't know what you're getting into: who she is and what she does. But I've been reading some chatter on sub-channels originating from the Citadel. I think she's starting to make her presence felt.”

This takes me by surprise. Is it paranoia? Mistake in the data? A last ditch attempt to show me I'm making the wrong decision? Or a genuine warning?

Knowing the ability and good intentions Traynor's always displayed, I'd hazard that the last one would be most likely.

I accept her caution uneasily. I've been wilfully unaware of Aria's activities, maybe even complicit. I haven't been looking beyond what Aria's shown to me: mostly as I've been so drunk on her, I didn't care to see behind the curtain. I hope this is a mistake. Or at best, just her knocking some criminals around.

But I'm not going to judge her until I know there's something more than 'sub-channel chatter', whatever the Hell that is. She deserves that much.

“I will be careful,” I affirm.

“Good. And if you need any help,” she ventures, voice fading a little. “I'm here.”

“You really don't need to do that.”

“Who else would you get?”

I look at her, wondering if I am making a mistake. She is kind and funny. Clever and sweet. A bigger person than me for certain. At this point in the break-up I believe I was holding Melanie's favourite boots hostage, demanding a reconciliation.

I never even considered the possibility of Traynor as anything more. Why wouldn't I do that? Aria just felt like the obvious conclusion, and I don't know what kind of person I am if that seems more logical than the gentle and brilliant woman sitting beside me.

I think I could utter the _It's not you, it's me_ line with heartfelt honesty, but I know Samantha doesn't much care for the canned response.

My omni-tool chirps out a reminder tone that breaks my consideration. Probably better this way.

“I'm sorry, but I actually need to go,” I say hesitantly. “Genuinely.”

“Always do, Commander,” she says sadly.

“I am sorry, Sam. And thank you,” I tell her, a hand on her knee. Which I don't think she feels comfortable with, so I pull it carefully back.

“Was great fun while it lasted,” she shrugs, covering her mouth for a shallow cough. Which I believe she was using as cover to reach her eyes. “Never been so clean.”

“Me neither,” I agree whole-heartedly. She got me through some difficult times. “We can share custody of my shower, if you want.”

“That won't be necessary. Unless I've had a really bad day... And you don't have to worry about working together, Shepard,” she says, clearing her throat.

“I know I don't,” I nod. “But thank you.”

“OK. Well that's it then, isn't it,” she says with a long exhalation.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling suddenly emotional as I stand up. “I'll see you back on-board.”

“Course, Commander,” she smiles weakly. “I'll be there.”

My mouth opens to say _thank you_ yet again, but I figure it's overkill by now.

Instead, I turn and head up for the Commons Apartments to make my next appointment.

 

\--

 

“I got your message, Miranda,” I say by way of greeting my old friend in the luxury apartment she seems to camped out in. “Is this about your sister?

She turns as I enter: Miranda, ever the poised and flawless creature, looks less than her usual self. When I saw her a couple of months ago as she was hiding from Cerberus she didn't look as fraught as she does now. Of course with Miranda everything is internal. You just have to learn how to read the signs. The slightest brow crease expresses what a wailing funeral widow can.

“Shepard. I need access to Alliance resources. I can't say any more. You'll just have to trust me,” Miranda says, straight to business. She looks like she's up against a wall, and that's usually when she's at her most vulnerable and most inventive.

“You'll have your access, Miranda,” I nod. She knows I trust her. “But I don't like the sound of this.”

“I know, and thank you. It means a lot,” she says graciously.

“No problem,” I murmur softly, seeing the stress of her situation evident on her face. “You could come back to the Normandy. We'll help you find Oriana. And I could really use you.”

She braces herself on the bars in front of the panoramic windows the apartment offers.

“Oh, I _know_ you could,” Miranda says, a hint of levity in her voice that indicates she knows something.

I join my friend at the window, looking down at the view of the Presidium Commons.

There's a clear line of sight to the very spot that I was but five minutes ago.

I look at her, really scrutinising any muscle spasm or facial twitch. She's giving nothing away.

I then look over her shoulder to the mounted sniper rifle. I know that model: listening to Garrus's lectures on Black Widow superiority has taught me a thing or two for a girl who prefers to see the white of the eye before dispatching the foe.

In that series, the reload time isn't worth the impact of the shot, but the scope is one of the market-leaders. Combine it with the Distance Aural mod and you've got something worth the credits for reconnaissance work.

“Goddamnit, Miranda,” I huff, hanging my head as I lean over the bars. “You were spying on me? Can anyone _not_ spy on me?”

“Relax Commander Paranoid,” she says. “I wasn't spying on you. I was spying on the Salarian in the mods shop behind you. Just happened to notice a scene.”

“There was no scene,” I scoff. “And listening as well, I take it?”

“I don't know how to turn it off,” she says, barely suppressing a smirk.

“It un-clips,” I mutter, crossing to the bed to flop down.

“So I hear that you've got yourself into quite a mess,” she says, hands on hips. “Mostly of your own making.”

“To be fair, she started it,” I tell her defensively, not really believing myself and sounding a bit pathetic into the bargain. Samantha wasn't to know that naked, attractive woman in my shower was an aphrodisiac for me. “She's the Comms Specialist on the Normandy,”

“I know Shepard, I cross-referenced that about twenty minutes ago,” she says. “And, I have to say, she's very not blue.”

“Hilarious,” I remark, rolling my eyes.

“Cause I've heard about another one that is. And it's not the prothean archaeologist you picked up on Mars,” she says, her stare demanding answers.

I feel like I'm getting in trouble. I probably should. I probably deserve it.

“What happened?” Miranda probes. “You didn't say anything last I saw you. I thought you and Liara would've just... fallen back into place.”

“Is my love life really an issue?” I ask her, doing my damndest to deflect. “Aren't there bigger things going on?”

“Gargantuan, behemoth-like things going on,” Miranda agrees. “But that doesn't mean it doesn't matter. Especially if it's effecting you.”

“It's not,” I shrug unconvincingly.

I wish I was a better liar.

“What happened?” she asks, more softly, as she takes a seat next to me.

“We didn't fall back into place,” I say, chewing my lip. “It wasn't happening. I could have screamed my need to be with her from a skycar at the top of the Presidium, and she would've shrugged. I was trying to tie her to something solid, and it didn't seem like she wanted that burden. So I stopped trying.”

“Shepard,” Miranda murmurs sympathetically.

“It's fine. And as you've heard I've enjoyed freedom as a result,” I say sarcastically, rubbing my hands over my face as if that'll help clear the fog of my mind.

“Little too much,” Miranda says. Following with an incredulous: “Really – Aria – _really_?”

“Would it make any more sense if I told you the sex was good?”

“Sex is good if you're good at sex,” Miranda scoffs. “Sex with a psycho is suicidal.”

“She's not a psycho,” I dismiss lightly. “Bit of a bad girl, but mentally stable. Calculating, ruthless, impatient, demanding – but not insane.”

“Well, when you describe her like that,” Miranda says, smothering a laugh. “And I think she'd slap you with a warp field for calling her a 'bit of a bad girl'.”

I shrug. She likes the moniker well enough in the dark. That's usually when I'm trying to wind her up for my benefit. She's so easy to play.

“She's what I need right now,” I nod, quite sure of myself for once.

“Shepard – You want love and commitment – But you go for Aria T'Loak?” Miranda asks seriously.

“Wasn't like that,” I dismiss, struggling to explain. “I didn't say that I wanted that--”

“But that's the problem with you and Liara, wasn't it?” she accuses.

“I wanted her to be _in it_ with me,”  I impress upon her.

“No, you wanted her to show it. She was 'in it', Shepard,” Miranda corrects me. 

“I don't--”

“Trust me,” Miranda says, with a look that says _Don't forget what she did for you._

I'll never forget.

But I would do that for Garrus or Tali – Or most definitely Liara.

If he died and some  shady Turian supremacy group with  deep pockets told me they could bring him back, I'd walk on  barefoot on Menae with a pyjak in my cloaca to get his body to them.

Course, it's easy saying that as I can't envision a situation where that might be required. But I'd go through fire for any of them. Doesn't mean I dream of blue babies with them.

“And if you wanted someone to love you and gush about you, you should have stuck with Traynor,” Miranda says pointedly. “From that scene down there, it seemed like she's completely besotted with you.”

God, no, it was  all just supposed to be  _chess._

“She didn't seem\--”

“She did. And does, Shepard. You're leaving carnage in your wake,” Miranda warns.  
“How the hell do you know all this? I know you're good, I know you're insightful, but...”

“I'm more than good, Shepard,” Miranda smirks. “I'm perfect. And I have plenty of 'eyes'.”

“More spying,” I comment with a grunt.

“You dump the nice one, you let the one you love leave, and instead you chase someone emotionally unattainable,” she says, trying to make it sound like the most ludicrous thing to ever have been done. “She'll never say she loves you.”

I try to picture it. Even with Aria at her most vulnerable and docile, and I'm not sure I could imagine her forcing those words from her lips.

But she keeps telling me that I don't know a damn thing about her.

“She doesn't have to,” I say, chewing my lip again. “There's passion there. Outward, throttling passion. I have no doubt that she wants to be with me.”

“That's enough?”

I don't respond.  Miranda nods her head, ready to back off.

“Have we had enough girl talk?” I ask her, with a hopeful smile.

“Enough by half,” Miranda replies. “But we had a lot of catching up to do.”

“I don't recall a lot of relationship advice last year.”

“You wouldn't, after a barrel of alcohol,” she laughs, before adding quickly: “But that's classified.”

I grimace.

“I never said thank you for that.”

“You don't have to,” she says dismissively. “And though personal relationships are not my own forte, you need someone to help you with yours considering the state you're in.”

“I have the guys on-board,” I reason.

“Garrus would call you out if you were being reckless with lives, not hearts. Tali's probably caught between personal loyalties, with world-rebuilding on her mind. And the one who would have knocked you down on your conduct unbecoming is part of the problem. And gone,” Miranda sums up, with a sad note at the end.

After a brief moment, I get the courage. She said it, she has  ' eyes ' . I know Miranda has sources on the Citadel and beyond. She just might... 

“Do you know where she's gone?”

“I don't know, Shepard,” she says apologetically. “I know Liara left the Citadel a few weeks ago, but I don't know where to. I know that the Asari are getting nervous that the Reapers are finally coming to their door. Issued anedict for their best and brightest daughters to return home to fight the threat. I don't know if she'd heed that considering her work with the Alliance.”

“I don't know if it makes them lucky that the war's left them this long,” I murmur, images of Earth and Palaven entering my mind unbidden. I return to the window, hoping for the calm sights of the Presidium to erase them. For now at least. “Depends if they've made the most of the delay to prepare.”

And now it's Liara on Thessia in my mind. I don't even really know what Thessia looks like, beyond vids years ago.  When I hear 'Thessia' I'm drawn back to three years ago, in that tiny room behind the med-bay and imagining the planet through Liara's enthusiasm. Now I just know she's on a planet with her people,  and a Reaper Destroyer coming towards her \--

No. She really wouldn't be so stupid. There's so much she can do from elsewhere rather than heeding an order from the Matriarch's to fight and die to protect them.

No. She wouldn't.

“Before the Collectors confirmed their interest in humans with hitting colonies andmaking that abomination,” Miranda recoils briefly at our shared memory of the Human Reaper on the Collector base, as she comes to join me. “I believe the first assumption was the apex race Sovereign spoke of would be the Asari – within Cerberus intelligence, anyway.”

“They are thousands of years more advanced than us,” I say.

“But in a single Asari lifetime, we went from hearth-fires and jousting, to having a seat on the Citadel Council. We rose so quickly that we pissed a lot of people off,” Miranda says. “Hence the backlash, hence the strength of Cerberus.”

“Think that's why they want us? Quick learners?”

“No, I think you just annoyed them too much, Shepard,” Miranda jokes. “So they're picking on all of us.”

“They started it,” I point out.

“I think the best theory was Mordin's: our DNA, much more malleable and diverse than others. We're ideal genetically, apparently,” she says dryly. “Wish someone had told my father that.”

“We've been through this,” I say sternly, still feeling the need to shut down her bitter mood swings that consume her with resentment and hate for her father. “You're more than your genetics. You proved that last year. Your augments didn't make you tell the Illusive Man to shove it.”

“Just following your lead,” she says, inclining her head.

“I'd be interested to know which one of us he wants dead more. Like if he had an either/or choice,” I pose, trying to picture his smoking bastard face at this moment.

“Probably you.”

“Nah, probably you. If they killed me, you'd just bring me back,” I smile.

“It's what I do,” she laughs.

As the laugh dies, we stare out over the Presidium enjoying the briefest illusion of peace. It's a comfortable silence.

I hear her sigh. She checks her omni-tool.

“I hate to say it, but I should get moving,” she says reluctantly. “But thanks,Shepard: this has genuinely been the highlight of my week. Talking to another person without calculating if warping them will get me more information or not”

“Pro-tip: Usually does,” I tell her. “But it'll make you feel bad. Best to ask nicely.”

“You would say that,” she groans.

“Miranda – Normandy invitation still stands. We can find your sister,” I promise.

“Thanks Shepard. But I think you have several worlds to save,” she says sadly. “Be safe.”

“You too.”

 


	22. Escapism

 

**22 – Escapism**

 

 

I regret everything.

Smug bastard grin. She knows she's expertly wrangled me far from my comfort zone. She's just twisting until I cry for mercy.

I won't give her the satisfaction.

One snarky comment - Well, the latest repetition of the same snarky comment – And this is her retaliation. I just have to endure.

A perfectly innocuous comment regarding the limits of her own comfort. The sofa on which she holds court night after night, completely disregarding the experiences to be had outside of its dark, vibrating walls.

I revelled in my own arrogance while ever so gently teasing her, of coming from distant worlds under dying suns and beautiful though traumatised landscapes, to see her in exactly the same place.

She usually retorts with the same veiled warning that I don't know her or her 900 years treading the galaxy.

This time I was not to get off so lightly.

It was a dare framed as an invitation that sounded like an order.

I knew it wouldn't be pleasant. Especially when instructed to wear that one dress that I own.

She picks me up in a skycab from the docking bay. She refuses to tell me we're going and stares out the window with a definite smirk.

Had this been before the Reaper invasion, before the chaos, the kiss and reconquering her beloved Omega, I would have been fairly sure that this would have been a long drive to an assassination attempt. I can guarantee I wouldn't have felt nearly as apprehensive as I do now.

I groan softly at my silent observation.

“Care to share?” Aria asks smoothly.

“Half a year ago, this would have been a very different ride,” I tell her.

“Perhaps,” she agrees, hand resting on her hip where a side-arm would be. She's not hiding anything in that dress though. Cut more from a human style of fashion with a subversive punk edge than typical neck to toe Asari evening elegance, it certainly suits her own style. It demands all eyes on her, which makes me feel a little less self-conscious.

“Regardless, the question would be the same,” she says cryptically, leaning in close enough that I cast an eye to the front to see the passenger-driver screen in operation. “Do you feel lucky?”

“You don't need luck with L5n implants,” I boast. “As long as they're in perfect working order.”

“They don't allow offensive or recreational biotics at the Silver Coast,” Aria says. “Not since humans got on the Citadel, at least.”

“Silver Coast?” I echo.

On cue, the skycab pulls up at the end of the Silversun Strip and the door opens to reveal the bright lights, and pleasure-seekers that they attract.

Those pleasure-seekers are mostly soldiers on shore leave, in a place where there's more light and they're a little less drunk than Purgatory.

She climbs out of the cab, beckoning impatiently for me to do the same.

I can't blink first. One foot in front of the other.

I'm hyper-aware of every Alliance uniform and jar-head in the crowd while she lays out the iteninary for the evening: Casino, drinks, then sushi at the ultra-hip restaurant with the fish tank in the floor.

Aria claims she has a standing reservation, but I know that Anderson had to wait several hours for a table. I'll be interested to see how true that really is as I'm convinced half of her boasts are lies no one's caught her out in yet.

It's surreal to be walking down a crowded street with her; with a place to be and an evening more-or-less planned.

By design, this could almost be a date.

My conscience reminds me how superficial and selfish this is. Though running the gauntlet of public perspective is certainly an act with potential consequence, the reason I'm even here and participating in this charade; devoting my energy to concerns of feeling ungainly and anxious is due utter human baser instinct.

The reason is sex. Lust, desire and pure escapism. A distraction.

Every time the better angels of my nature try to rise up and remind me of this, I batter them down again. Because if I shatter the illusion, I see dreadnoughts turned to vapour by Reaper laser, and the faces of everyone crushed under metal foot. The weight of the task crushes me and I cannot breathe; stark dread corrodes my insides and my muscles are paralysed until I snap back to –

The present distraction, and embrace it with all of the shallow concerns it brings. In this moment, I'm just a girl walking down a street. I haven't thought of myself that way in a very long time. The relief is a blessing.

The bustle of the streets seems to increase to aggravating proportions. Must be happy hour. We're carving a path through hundreds of bodies barrelling from the opposite direction.

She discreetly offers an arm and instinctively I slip my own through hers. She pulls me tight to her and starts steering through the masses like she's Joker showing off in a debris field.

This is very public. Very public.

I brought this upon myself. It's my fault we're walking down the street, arm-in-arm like a normal couple. Fantastic, Shepard. Well done.

From her expression it doesn't seem to be bothering her.

She's focused straight ahead on where we're going, directing us left and right.

She turns to me, her head inclined so slightly, and smiles.

Not laced with innuendo, not forced, not a smile that shows she's ever so pleased with herself, not one showing her waning patience.

But a reassuring one.

And it's done. Eyes forward again and set on target.

Until we stagger: Aria's shoulder going into mine and knocking me like a domino, having taken a hit on her side from a stranger.

In heels I can barely perform the basics of walking – nevermind recover from something as advanced as nearly falling over; so it takes my full attention to maintain an upright position.

When I look back at her, she's furious.

“That boy – that whelp that shoved me – was sneering at me! Did you see that?” she says, the impudence of it raising her ire.

“C'mon Aria, forget about it,” I urge her, having not seen the exchange. She's probably right, but she could be overreacting – and if she engages him, she will redefine overreacting

“Don't think so,” she shakes her head, increasingly aggravated.

“Aria--” I protest, before she starts marching in the opposite direction.

“You!” Aria roars, deliberately pushing her way through the crowds as she stalks her quarry.

As the bodies clear, I think I see the man she's gunning for.

He's wearing an Alliance uniform. Of course he is.

“Aria – leave it,” I call after her, but she's too close to him now to give up.

“YOU!” She yells again, displeased at being ignored.

He doesn't turn until she makes him, her forceful grip on his shoulder spinning him round.

“Who are _you_ to be looking at _me_ like that?” she growls, her face close to his.

“Corporal Alan Coleman. Alliance Marine,” he responds defiantly, despite the waver in his voice. “And I wasn't looking at _you_.”

She growls at him as he turns his attention to me.

“Commander Shepard – You probably don't remember me,” he says tightly.

I try to place his face, but it's not coming to me. Narrowing down the search to those I might of pissed off doesn't make things easier. Where's EDI when you need her? I'll freely admit that organics are inferior with cataloguing and search parameters.

“You bought me and my buddies a drink in Purgatory once,” he reminds me. “We felt honoured just to meet you.”

“Oh,” I nod, the night with Vega in the club coming back to me. It's easy to forget the times I've been in there before my sole purpose was seeking the Asari next to me in her natural habitat. “Thank you Corporal--”

“How are we supposed to believe in you now?” he seethes, unable to control his anger.

I blink. Back straightens. Shoulders back. Switching to Officer mode

“Excuse me, sol--”

“Cavorting with known criminals,” he says, a vicious edge daring to creep into his tone as he unwisely throws a look Aria's way. “How we supposed to trust you? Especially after Cerberus and everything.”

I'm a fraction of a second from ripping him apart with a thoroughly public dressing down for addressing a commanding officer like that. It's never been my style, but the training is the built-in automatic first response.

My own instinct is to look at him in all of his indignant rage. He clearly has a deep-seated issue with me; under the same crushing pressure as every serving soldier battling against overwhelming force; and from his sway and slight slur, there's definitely some inebriation involved to give him the guts. It's not easy to keep it together.

Look at how I'm coping.

And there's something in him that reminds me of Jenkins.

I imagine this is how he might have reacted to everything that's happened in the years since that first landing on Eden Prime. His idolisation of Officers and Spectres and even soldiers who'd seen combat was effusive – to have one of his heroes torn down would have hurt him on a personal level. The stories of the landmark operations were his touchstone. He wanted so desperately to be a part of one.

Jenkins didn't see the whole picture. That any extraordinary situation starts off as an ordinary day (well, before the Reaper war we had ordinary days). The stress of being placed in the middle of circumstances beyond your control demands the very best of you – and if you can muster the strength and ingenuity you'll perform exceptional feats and be lauded as a hero, almost by accident. Because on that day, you were just doing your job and didn't die.

The only difference between a grunt and a 'hero' is having the fortune of being tested – and passing.

As tragic as it was, a part of me knew that Jenkin's over-enthusiastic ill-discipline and rash behaviour would get get him cut down in the line of fire. The smallest consolation was that he died on the soil of his homeworld.

“Cerberus are scum, you'll get no argument from me,” I tell him softly, tilting my head.

I think this wrong-foots him for a second, but he manages to summon his anger once more.

“You know, my buddy joined up with Cerberus, cause he got discharged from the Marines for something stupid. He wanted to fight for all of us. We believed in you. And now he's probably a walking skull with whatever garbage Cerberus are stuffing into his brain!”

“You're responsible for all of Cerberus' ills now, Shepard?” Aria snipes. “Your people have a fucked concept of hero worship.”

I cringe a little at the term. That's never what I wanted.

“I've seen it! I've seen what they're doing to us!” he shouts. “I know you have too. And here you are – not giving a damn, and getting cosy with the worst _blue bitch_ in the Terminus Systems--”

“Why, thank you,” Aria says sweetly--

\--Before knocking him down with a full-force punch to the face.

There's no point chiding Aria at this juncture; it'll just make her more inclined to hit him again, and with the crowd now gathering around us that would escalate the situation further. The dirty looks that Aria's casting around the circle, as she stands ready for a full knock-down, drag-out fight, is putting off many of the bystanders from hanging around.

“Corporal,” I say quietly, stooping down to help him up. He shrugs off my aid, but I grab a handful and haul him up anyway. “I'm sorry about what happened to your friend. If you know anything about what I was doing last year, then you'll know it was for the right reasons. The Collectors were after us, serving a master that the Alliance didn't even believe existed until it was almost too late. My crew and I saved millions, and I can't regret it.”

He looks like he's coming round and understanding me, until he throws off my grasp on his shoulder.

“And how many millions more are dead because of you?” he says. “Or her?”

“Don't think my body count's quite extended into seven figures, but maybe if I draw blood it'll jog my memory,” Aria threatens, raising her fist.

I block her fist gently with my palm, attempting to convince her with a look to let me handle this.

Aria relents; retracts her hand and assumes _pissed-off_ stance with her arms folded and hip jutting out.

I turn to the soldier, my hand on his shoulder once more.

“Corporal – I don't think there's anything I can say to convince you,” I admit to him. “But that's not my job. It's not your job either. Your job is to believe in yourself, in the Alliance and our allies, that we can stop the Reapers. If you listen to anything I say, have it be that.”

“But yo--”

“Corporal,” I say in a firm, don't-bullshit-me-or-blue-bitch-behind-me-will-have-you tone. “That will be all.”

Wisely, the Corporal withdraws, seeking refuge in the nearest bar off the strip. I watch him cautiously until he disappears through the door.

“Goddess, Shepard,” Aria snorts. “It would've taken a lot less brain power just to send the brat to to Huerta.”

“Not when you have to file a report after,” I say with a sigh. “And I don't have a template for beating soldiers on shore leave.”

“Good thing I was the one who hit him,” she says airily. “They can shove their report up their ass.”

“All right,” I say, a hand on her arm in an attempt to calm her. “We should go.”

“Casino's not gonna cut it just now,” Aria says, still agitated. “I need some relief.”

“And we barely got out in the world,” I say, expecting us to hail a skycab for full retreat. I think this would count as her blinking first, even though one of my worst fears of being seen in public together has already come to pass. I'm not sure who wins either way. It really doesn't matter.

“Not that kind of relief, Shepard,” she smiles mischievously, casting an eye towards an alley. “Though an impromptu fuck would go some way to cooling the blood.”

“ _Aria,_ ” I hiss, a little disappointed in my prudishness. In the wake of Corporal Coleman's grievance, getting caught in such a compromising position would be indefensible.

“Some day I'll remove the stick up your ass your Turian comrade loaned you,” she promises in a close whisper. “And I'll make it feel great.”

There probably isn't an inch of me that hasn't turned an attractive shade of scarlet.

“In lieu of that day, we'll use more savoury methods to work out my aggression,” she says, leading me back the way we came. I'm still not convinced we're going to get a skycab.

Suddenly, we stop: in front of the biggest, most artificially illuminated place on the strip, with advertisements for the place booming out of the speakers.

“Armax Arena?” I ask her dubiously. “We're going here?”

I note the scoreboard displayed in front.

Aria, with all of her free time while I'm out fighting, sits proudly on top.

“I see you're a regular,” I say pointedly, nodding towards the board.

“It keeps crashing,” Aria mutters. “I've got a higher score than that. And I'm not a _regular_. I own it.”

“You what?”

“I own a 30% stake,” she clarifies. “Almost closing 52% actually, but there's some wrangling to be done. The holdouts I'm blackmailing, or 'convincing' to sell their shares feel very attached to the name and don't want it changed. A pity: _Aria's Armax Arsenal Arena_ has a natural ring to it.”

“Where did you get the credits?” I stagger, looking at the size of the place.

“I've got credits,” she assures me. “You think I run Omega for the hell of it? Because it has such a beautiful vista? Yes, it's my own little meritocracy island in the sun, free from the Council's incessant shit. But it's packed full of eezo and no gang operates there without my say-so and a hefty monthly tribute.”

“Why buy this place?” I ask, wondering if Purgatory would have been the natural choice. Maybe she does own it. I don't know. Apparently she's stacked with credits and has a burgeoning portfolio. But I don't think she'd complain about Purgatory so much if it was hers. Plus they'd stock her liquor.

“What does better in war-time than escapist entertainment, but _violent_ escapist entertainment,” she explains coolly. “And it means I don't have to pay for my membership. Doesn't stop that shifty bastard Barla Von topping my high score though. And don't get me started on the cow.”

“You're a mogul,” I say with a smile. “Hell – a respectable businesswoman. Maybe not respectable, given the blackmail.”

She gives me that glare which is supposed to threaten me, but it just makes me tingle.

“Couple of weeks ago, I got bored. So I expanded my empire to the Citadel,” she says, nodding to the other end of the strip. “Got my eye on the Arcade so I can kick the shit out of that prize machine and sell it for scrap. But the bastard doesn't want to sell. I'm raking up some dirt on him through outside sources, but it's slow when you're dealing with amateurs and pseudo bureaucracy.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “So, that was what the sub-wave chatter stuff was about.”

She stares at me.

Lets it hang a little too long.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Shepard?”

“The Sub-wave, sub-station... there was chatter... you were getting mentioned a lot...” I stammer, thoroughly embarrassing myself with my technical incompetence.

“You mean the sub-channel network that kid gangs and dumb mercs-for-hire use because they think it's encrypted, but actually set up and controlled by C-Sec?”

“I think so...?”

“I've probably beat a lot of those guys at the Arena,” she shrugs. “They're just the clientèle. And dumb shits broadcasting their business, and mine, on that honey trap. At least there's nothing they can get me on here.”

I feel satisfied with the explanation, if a little uneasy.

But I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Let's work up a sweat at Spectre level and then I'll probably do you in the locker room,” Aria says with a tantalising grin. “If you're good, I might lock the door to protect what little dignity you have left.”

She holds out her hand, beckoning in a _come hither_ gesture as she walks backwards into the Arena with the dirtiest smirk on her face.

Who can say no to an offer like that?

 


	23. Hackett

 

**23 – Hackett**

 

 

Vid-com's don't always bring bad news, but whenever I get a call I brace for impact, expecting the worst. Admiral Hackett scheduled the call with Traynor earlier, so it can't be something cataclysmic – like the Crucible has fallen to pieces like wet tissue paper, or the Reapers are duplicating their Sovereign-class ships exponentially through some sort of space magic and all is surely lost.

Having said that, if the news was that bad, it's not like he would need to tell me the second it happened. The news is still going to be as fatal six hours later.

Every muscle tenses as his blue-tinted holo frame starts to transmit. He clocks my state of concern right away.

“Relax, Shepard,” he says. “It's not bad news. It's not good news. I'd say ridiculous news.”

“OK, Admiral,” I respond, a little too confused to let out the breath I've been holding.

“Commander, I know I told you I was surprised we'd ever be in bed with Aria T'Loak. I just never expected you to take that literally.”

It takes a moment for the pun to land – And when it does, it's like I've been hit with a polonium round. Beyond the severe personal implications, I did not know that Admiral Hackett was the punning type.

“Admiral, I--” I choke.

“Shepard, I don't want you to explain yourself,” he cuts me off with a wave of the hand. “I honestly don't want to hear about your personal business. I just wanted to let you know that knowledge of it has filtered back to command and there's talk.”

“Talk of what, Sir?” I ask, my throat very, very dry. I grip the bar for safety, pouring all of my humiliation, panic and anger into it.

I should have never. I knew I should have never. Every damn time it was perfectly obvious that I damn well never should have _ever..._

“A lot of hot air, if you ask me. Don't let it distract you. I'm actually giving you this warning as a favour to your mother, rather than let a pad pusher do it.”

Figures pad pushers survived.

The callousness of that thought is horrific. They can court martial me all they want for that one.

“My mother,” I mutter. “Leading the charge?”

“No, Commander. She's defending you. Got fleet command to sanction a preliminary warning about fraternisation with suspect elements, with moratorium on action until threat level falls. Off the record, she's pretty furious,” he says with a small, knowing smile.

I always wondered how well he knows my mother. That smile hints at more than I'm comfortable with.

“I'm sure she is,” I say quietly, just picturing her face in my head. As if I didn't tarnish her legacy enough with accusing an eminent Spectre with treason my first day on the job; shouting about Reapers like a mad-woman; unceremoniously dying and ejected like space trash; then coming back and working for a terrorist organisation.

Not to mention the last thing in the galaxy that anybody wants is for their mother to have knowledge of their sex life.

“I'll do my best to quash any concerns for now,” Hackett tells me. “But I think we'll only know the war's over when people starting giving a damn about who everyone's sleeping with again.”

“Understood, Admiral.”

“To be clear, Shepard – I'll never give a damn. I trust your judgement; you're invaluable to the Alliance. Everything you've done over the past few months has underlined that. But you're not bulletproof. When we win this war, there will be others who don't feel the same way as I do.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” I say earnestly.

“All right, Commander, let's get back to what's important – winning this war. Hackett out.”

Following those immortal sign-off words, I wait ten seconds before I let myself breathe again.

There are a few things that stop me completely going to pieces: The crew in the war room behind me; The notion that this Comm Link needs to be the place where I am strong, make tough decisions and tell Dalatrasses to fuck off – not the place where I cry because people say mean things about me; And of course, EDI, the eye in the sky watching everything.

So I try to put as much distance between myself and that small corner of the ship.

I'm trying not to care. It's not something I have to worry about right now. If they're going to strip me of my rank and take back my commemorative N7 hoody, then it's not happening until we manage to crush the enemy that has eviscerated countless cycles before us.

But I'm undeniably on edge. I resist the urge to study each of the crew to see if they know, if they're looking at me differently. Private Westmoreland seems uncharacteristically silent and commentary-free as I pas through the scanners.

As for the crew on the bridge: from the little I do gather from the side of my eye, they seem to be going about their duties as normal.

Perfect cover – sneaky bastards.

“Commander?” Traynor calls from her post over at the other side of the CIC. Her tone is peppered with enough of a quizzical inflection that I feel I should hear her concerns.

“Commander, is there a reason you're on your fifth lap of the galaxy map?” she asks quietly as I reach her side.

“Surveying. Supervising,” I say quickly. “Commanding. It's in the job description.”

“New supervisory protocol – was that what your call with Admiral Hackett was about?” she jests gently. “Do I get a performance evaluation? Coaching to reach my potential?”

“Yeah, coaching,” I say, trying to keep the humour in my voice despite how uncomfortable I feel. “Stop sucking.”

“I'm a better soldier already,” Samantha says wryly, turning back to her haptic interface.

“If you wanna be a soldier, we'll need to get you firearm-ready,” I muse, not entirely joking. We have no idea what the end of days will bring on the Normandy, and I don't believe waving her ridiculously expensive toothbrush at the Reapers will keep her alive.

Last year, when the Collectors boarded, many of my people weren't ready. It could have been so much worse for Karin, Chambers and the crew, and I didn't do enough to ensure everyone was ready. Every marine is a rifleman, but not every Navy crewman gets the mandatory training. Considering that a good chunk of my crew are ground-side engineers and lab scientists that were in the right place at the right time when the Reapers hit Earth, retrofitting the Normandy, most won't had had to pass muster in their careers.

“Commander, you know how when people say that have two left feet? Because they can't dance? Like no coordination, no rhythm, just flailing about… Like some people might describe certain officers on the dance floor...” Traynor babbles, not at all covering her blatant attempt to insult. “That's me. With a gun. Two left hands. Which, considering a mass effect field is decreasing the mass of a small sliver of metal to propel it at supersonic speeds makes it a _lot_ more dangerous. It's not just making a bloody fool of yourself at Purgatory we're talking about.”

“And who made a fool of themselves at Purgatory?”

“No one,” she dismisses quickly. “That's not the point, Shepard – I could kill someone.”

“You're supposed to. Unfortunately that's kind of the point.”

“Guns make me nervous,” she blurts forcefully. “The sound of the them. The thought of them. What they actually do-- They're supposed to puncture flesh and tear insides in the most damaging way possible. There's ammunition to corrode your insides, or burn you, or freeze you. It's optimum destruction. They're supposed to take a life. Someone that was living and – bang – not any more. I don't think I'm cut out for that.”

She drums her fingertips on her desk: erratically at first, to build momentum to an angry, rhythmic rapping that almost sounds like rapid machine gunfire far in the distance.

“We're not taking about shooting mercs or pirates here. We're talking about _Reapers_ ,” I tell her. “They're regurgitated body parts of beings that I can guarantee would never have wanted to be the enemy. It's a kindness – Hell, it's an obligation.”

“I understand that,” Traynor nods, biting in lip with clear reservations. “I do. I intellectually understand it, but…”

“You know what I think? I think unfamiliarity breeds fear. I think with practice comes confidence. I'm not saying you're on the next Fireteam, but I would like you to be prepared to survive,” I tell her. “Next time we're on-world, will you come with me to a shooting range?”

She gazes at me with an open mouth that appears like it's trying to formulate a response but her brain isn't mailing it through quickly enough.

“Or Garrus or James,” I add, in case it's me that's holding her back. “Best to say yes, or it becomes an order.”

“Ah, the illusion of choice,” she groans as she nods. “OK Shepard, ready to give it a shot.”

I roll my eyes. First the Admiral, now Traynor: the unexpected pun is hitting me from all sides today. “And I was going to smugly ask you if you regretted calling me over here, but after that pun, I'm definitely worse off.”

That raises a smile at least.

With that small battle won, I leave Samantha to her defeat as she turns back to data analysis. Or that's what I presume she was doing. It all looks like wavy lines to me.

Circling the CIC and the Bridge is clearly not helping, so I decide that padding around the other decks might. My chest starts to constrict again as soon as the elevator doors shut. The white hot shame has my skin feeling clammy and my insides churning.

The brief respite of talking shop with Traynor has me wondering why deadly weapons made me forget the overwhelming humiliation that was my vid-com with the Admiral. Is it the training or just Traynor who made me feel better?

What if the Alliance found out about Traynor and I? They may already know. If they don't, it'll turn up in their investigation about Aria, I'm sure.

As I reach the deck below, I know where I'm headed. There's one guy who can talk guns all day long, and calibrate well into the night. Or kick my ass as I heartily deserve. This person practically lives in the Main Battery. I haven't seen a bed roll, but I'm sure it's tucked just out of sight.

“Shepard,” Garrus greets me from his terminal. “How's it going?”

A quip, some light banter, shop talk, or come clean for my ass whooping. The choice is mine.

“So you know those rumours about me...” I broach carefully, waiting until the Battery door is closed.

“I might,” he says cautiously, his fingers leaving his calibrations console. The Turian with no emotional intelligence senses this is serious.

“What exactly are those rumours?” I ask curiously.

“My favourite,” he starts with a smirk, “is the one involving you, a Volus diplomat and crate of medi-gel.”

My eyebrows raise. “Well... In time of war, that's plain wasteful.”

“Not the way Vega tells it,” Garrus quips.

“But seriously. The rumours,” I say, drawing breath. “They've reached higher ears.”

“Well, I'm a lot taller than you, so technically my ears are further--”

“Admiral Hackett just called me to discuss,” I interrupt.

And he pulls the perfect _Oh shit_ face. “And how did that go?”

“He just wanted to let me know there was talk. And if we win this, there will be questions,” I say.

“That's ridiculous,” Garrus scoffs. “Does he have any idea how that sounds? _Save us from extinction and you can look forward to a_ _disciplinary_ _?_ ”

“Yeah, he knows. It's not him. He was just giving me a heads up. It's Command.”

“Bureaucrats,” Garrus mutters like it's a dirty word.

I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I was about their continued existence.

“Well, they're just rumours,” he says. “Not a damn thing they can do about that.”

“They're not,” I shake my head, not quite looking at him. “I mean there might be lots of rumours but there is one that is true.”

“Aria T'Loak,” he guesses, mostly to help me out of my pit of awkwardness and shame.

“Yeah,” I nod, biting my lip. Still can't look at him.

“Doesn't matter – We've got a job to do and hauling you out about your personal life is insane. And that's coming from a Turian with duty in the blood.”

“Even when it's with someone of such questionable work history?” I put delicately.

“I don't think it's anyone's business who you choose to relieve stress with,” he says dismissively. “And anyone that disputes that can dispute it with me.”

“I'm not getting you into this,” I tell him.

“Oh, I'm in this,” he assures me. “Always have your back. No matter for what.”

“And you're not... disappointed in me?” I ask, edge of fear in my voice.

“No, Shepard,” he says softly. “If there's anyone who can look at the worst person and inspire them to something better – it's you.”

“She's not the _worst_ person...” I counter.

“Suppose she wasn't helping Eclipse, Blue Suns and Blood Pack to kill me,” he says optimistically.

“Apart from having a sign-up room in her club,” I point out.

“Yeah... The sex better be worth it,” he says. “We already have her mercs.”

Now comes what I think I really came in to tell him. The thing I've been trying to say for weeks. Not that there hasn't been ample opportunity. I need to hear it aloud. Selfishly, I need to unburden myself, and it can only be him.

“It's more than that,” I say softly. “It's... serious. We're serious.”

He barely misses a beat. And I detect no quiver in the mandibles, which is a good sign.

“You always love the impossible odds, Commander,” he laughs, before embarking on a little performance to himself. “ _Suicide mission through the Omega-4_ – Done and done. _Reapers harvesting the galaxy_ – I'll take a bash. _Dating Aria, the pirate queen of Omega_ – Sure, no problem.”

“I'm not kidding,” I say, barely bothering to stifle a laugh.

“Well,” he draws out, before a look of panic crosses his face. “You know I'm not equipped to be giving relationship advice?”

“That's not what I... I wanted to tell someone. Cause it's a bit surreal,” I admit.

He looks down at his console, like he's calibrating in his mind. “This probably goes without saying: But Liara found out?”

“Yeah,” I breathe out.

“She'll forgive you,” Garrus says reassuringly. He knows he's lying.

It doesn't take much effort to recall Liara's face, exactly as I saw it last. The damage we did to each other… The hurt, anger, sorrow and deep pain reflected back at me. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive myself for the look in her eyes.

“Don't think so, but thank you.”

 


	24. EDI Gets Mail

 

**24 - EDI gets mail**

 

 

Approaching the bridge, I hear those two are at it again. Last year they grew together and formed a relationship between human and machine which was heartening to watch as a friend of the embittered, sarcastic but brilliant pilot. Joker trusted EDI enough to unshackle her. EDI admired Joker enough to adopt his love of humour. Marriage made in silicon heaven.

And now with EDI's new 'platform', Joker really is inseparable from his ship. I've actually seen him take shore leave to show her the world outside this vessel.

“--Serious, EDI, this is not what she needs to hear right now.”

“I do not believe that was the intention of the communication, Jeff.”

“It's co-ordinates, not Byron. You write a quick thank you, slap the data on the galaxy map and Shepard's none the wiser--”

“That's not fair, Joker. You know I never pass up an opportunity to get wiser,” I break in, announcing my presence. “What we talking about?”

Joker shoots EDI a look full of 'Don't tell mom' subtext. She takes a brief pause before turning to me.

“We received a communication warning us of new areas of Reaper encroachment, as well as a report through back channels on a monastery that Asari high command wishes our covert assistance with,” EDI says.

“OK, so what's so bad? Apart from the Reaper advance,” I say, arms folded and studying both of them.

Joker breaks. “It's from Liara.”

I try to mask my reaction, but fear Joker knows me too well and EDI's becoming too advanced in organic emotional response. Best option right now is to stare straight ahead into the black of space.

“She attached a note to you, Shepard,” EDI adds.

“Sorry, Commander, I didn't think it would be... I just thought you might not...” Joker trails off.

“Jeff thought, most likely informed by a surrogate familial bond, that receiving communication from Liara would adversely affect your state of mind. From the content of the note I did not think it would pose a problem.”

“It's not the content,” Joker says in a tone that indicates he's already explained this to her in vain, as he shakes his head.

“Entrusted with the communication I did not think it appropriate of either of our stations to withhold information meant for the Commander,” EDI says.

“We need to alter your Goody-Goody matrix,” Joker mutters.

My gaze still fixed on the stars ahead, I ask, “Why did you get it? Why didn't it come to my personal terminal?”

“Liara sent it directly to the Normandy,” EDI says. “From the circumstances in which she left the ship, I can extrapolate that she was unsure of the privacy of the message due to user access privileges on your personal terminal.”

“She means Traynor snooping about, y'know cause it's her job,” Joker says.

“Traynor's a professional,” I say, snapping out of my star-led trance.

“Then Liara's caution was in error. Regardless, Commander, what would you like to do?” EDI asks.

“Add the data to our nav systems; Make sure the rest of the Alliance has the intel; and push through the mission spec to me,” I decide.

“And the personal correspondence, Shepard?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Send that through as well. Joker: I appreciate the brotherly instinct, but I need to know everything, regardless of the source.”

“Understood, Commander,” he nods.

 –

I've been staring at the same three lines for the best part of an hour. I have time. I'm not worried about that. It'll take us another few hours to get back across the system to the relay. But these three lines are defeating me.

 

_Shepard,_

_Please find enclosed data on new Reaper invasion locations and expansion within existing theatres._

_Also attached is a classified request from Asari High Command for Spectre intervention._

_I'm relieved to hear that the Normandy and crew are well as can be hoped._

_I believe in you,_

_Liara_

 

OK, so it's three and a half lines – but it's the half line that kills me.

–

My eyes seem to have developed a strange orange tint from staring at my terminal for too long. Now when I attempt to look away, everything's just that little bit discoloured.

It's disconcerting, but I've only been sitting here a couple of hours. I wonder what it's like for those who're working on these things constantly. I consider asking Traynor to resolve this minute curiousity, but it's a procrastination I don't need. I need to focus.

The tint has even turned the flickering green light of my intercom as muddy yellowy orange.

“Yeah,” I answer the intercom.

“Shepard, may I come up to your cabin?”

It's the smooth tones of EDI. If there was anything on the bridge to worry about, she wouldn't be asking to come up here. I wonder if it's more pressing questions about the nature of her existence, or human behaviour that she needs to discuss far from Joker.

Should take my mind off being defeated by three and a half lines.

“Sure, EDI.”

My door hisses open, which causes me to jump in my seat. Seems she was right outside. Suppose she can access the intercom from anywhere.

“Hello, Shepard,” she greets me.

“What can I do for you, EDI?” I ask, rising from my chair.

“Shepard, there's a point of data that I wanted discuss,” she says, walking further into the cabin.

“What's that?” I say, continuing to rub my eyes.

“There has been a significant change in your combat performance since Liara left,” EDI says. “While you are eliminating the enemies you engage with a 100% success rate, you are doing so at a 12% drop in efficiency.”

As much as I've been staring at her name on a screen for hours and thinking constantly about her, worrying about her, I wasn't quite ready to hear her name aloud in connection to me. EDI, with all her telemetrics, would have noticed the flinch.

“Twelve doesn't sound like much,” I say defensively.

“It's a staggering decrease in a performance level that has been remarkably consistent.”

Sounds like damning me with faint praise. Or more like saying I was good, now I suck. Didn't know I'd be getting performance evaluations from EDI.

“Wait – what are you doing with these reports EDI? Were you collecting them for Cerberus back in the day? Or did Admiral Hackett ask you?”

“I have not been specifically tasked with this function. I collated the data initially for personal interest, then later so that I may be of assistance in improving individual combat operation,” she responds as evenly as always.

“OK. So how can you assist me?” I ask tightly.

“I am not confident that I can without knowing the factors involved, before suggesting measures to rectify the issue.”

“Liara and I worked well together,” I tell EDI after a brief intake of breath.

“There are other crew members with partial or similar biotic skill set matching Dr. T'Soni,” EDI points out. “I can send you individual performance reports focused on biotics.”

“It's not just about that, EDI.”

“Shepard, may I ask you a personal question that may shed some light?” she says, almost sounding hesitant.

“Why not?” I mumble.

“Did you love Liara?”

That catches in my chest. I wasn't prepared for that. Particularly EDI's emphasis on the word _love_ as it's still a curious concept to her.

“Yes.”

The only answer.

EDI studies me. I know my body language is probably screaming for evaluation.

“Would you describe that as your current position?”

 _Always_.

Is there a point in lying?

“Yes.”

Such a short word. So easy to utter. I heard the echo of it before I realised that it had come from my mouth.

“Shepard, the only logical conclusion to my investigation is that our chances for success are improved if Liara comes back to the Normandy,” EDI says, as if that wasn't obvious all along.

“That's not our decision,” I mutter, looking towards the bottle of wine on the table. This is definitely the kind of conversation that happens under the influence. I must explain that to EDI later, when my chest doesn't feel so constricted and skin so uncomfortably sweaty.

“Understood, Commander. May I ask another personal question?”

“Sure,” I nod wearily. Why the Hell not, even if you're not getting me drunk first.

“Jeff and I informed you of Liara's correspondence two hours and forty one minutes ago. My logs show you have been in your cabin since then. While I cannot confirm that you were actively engaged in the task during this time, I notice that the mail is on your terminal and you have not yet responded,” EDI says, gesturing to my evil, glowing orange console.

“What's the question?”

She tilts her head to the side.

“Do you want me to respond for you or give you any assistance in composing a message?”

I look at EDI with an intense rush of gratitude. I think I needed the offer to be let off the hook, or to know that someone cared.

I don't know if this is towards the ends of efficiency, or if she's truly beginning to understand us. From the softer tone of her voice, I'd say it's the later. She's getting good at subtle communication cues.

“No, EDI. But thank you,” I tell her. “It's--”

“Something you have to accomplish yourself,” she helps me out with.

“Exactly.”

“I will return to the bridge, Shepard,” she informs me with a nod.

“Thanks EDI.”

After she leaves, I return to staring at the three and a half lines.

Barely need to look at them. I could recite it forwards, backwards and maybe pig latin if I channel my inner 13 year old.

I can't look at this any more. I will actually go mad if she gets any further in my head than she is right now.

 

_Liara,_

_I hope you are keeping yourself safe. ~~Your father~~ ~~promised~~ ~~me~~ ~~you were right after she stopped hitting me.~~_

_EDI tells me I'm 12% less efficient in combat without you. Sounds a bit low to me. ~~I'd say I was 43% more likely to die without you saving me.~~_

_If you want to come ~~home~~ back to the Normandy, ~~you know we need you~~ you are more than welcome._

_I believe in you too_

_Shepard._

 

I stare at my own message. I consider tinkering with it. Editing myself out more than I already have. Taking out words, replacing with fake terms and platitudes.

In the end, I delete and start again.

 

_Liara,_

_Thanks for the data. I'll circulate a copy._

_Stay safe out there,_

_Shepard._

 

Send.  
Done.  
Fuck it.

I hate myself.

–

_I have to ask, I have to ask, I have to know_

All I'm thinking as I take the elevator down to the Engineering deck.

I have to stop thinking in order to make it through the starboard Engineering door to see the back of the friend I came to talk to.

“Hey Shepard,” she greets me, continuing to work at her console.

“Tali. Hi.” I think the shaky tone of my voice makes her cease working and turn to me.

“You OK Shepard?”

“Tali – Can I ask... Don't answer if it puts you in an awkward position... But have you heard...” I draw breath to concentrate and force the damn question out. “Has Liara contacted you?”

She pauses, I think weighing up her loyalty between the two of us.

“She has,” Tali confirms.

“OK. Thanks.”

I turn to leave Engineering, but can't. Not with this still rattling around in my brain.

“She sent EDI mail. Just intel to help us. Was wondering why she didn't pass it through you.”

“I can think of lots of reasons,” Tali considers. “Security, directness, organic fallibility... Maybe she didn't want to put me in that position.”

“Sure,” I nod tightly. “Makes sense. Thanks.”

Again I just can't leave.

“Has she... Is she OK?”

“Yes, Shepard. She's OK,” Tali says softly. “She asks the same of you.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, finally driven from the damn room by a rising wave of emotion that's burning my cheeks and stinging my eyes.

Never a good idea to let your crew see you cry. Even if they are your friends.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapter day as I thought something in slight romantic vein would be more appropriate for the day than a disciplinary and a diplomat.
> 
> Not to mention making up for the length of time I've been away.
> 
> Thank you to all who are (still) reading.


	25. Bad Reputation

 

**25 – Bad Reputation**

 

 

The war consumes ninety-five percent of my thoughts. The brief respite I get comes from the comfort of another. Being intimate with Aria is like a powerful anaesthetic: It wears off in 4-6 hours. It's enough for me.

I look at her and I wonder if it's the same. Sometimes it seems like it doesn't even touch the sides for her. The screaming of Earth keeps me awake at night while she sleeps soundly.

I saw the bloody-minded, almost suicidal drive she had to take Omega back. A force within her so powerful she tore a hole in a kinetic barrier with her bare hands. In that moment I saw something in her that I never bargained for. In Afterlife she held herself like she owned everyone and everything – and hell mend you if you took her nonchalance for complacency.

But in that cage she would not be beaten. She did not lie down to die. She ripped through the impossible with grit and passion, and in the expenditure of that incredible effort, she had no fear of pain.

But what of her race, her homeworld, the wider Harvest... Does it cause her the same anguish?

Does she use me as her solace, or am I the only one trying to escape from this plane of existence?

The anticipation is close to my favourite part. That's when I know our meeting is imminent and my mind starts to derail from grave matters to conjuring up new things to do to her. A good thought gets me half way across the galaxy before I realise any time has passed.

A flawless execution of that thought is often slowly (or swiftly) followed by ecstasy. Moments of bliss, such as these, are proceeded by jarring remembrance of what I'm hiding oh-so-briefly from underneath these smooth sheets, in the apartment that's the second most home-like place in the galaxy for me in the midst of this horror.

It's usually while Aria has a brief post-coital snooze that it all comes rushing back to me. Aria's face doesn't betray an iota of bad dreams. But then, she's not easy to read.

To her credit, she has reliable nap timing: A solid twenty minutes if I've done my job properly. Out like a stealth ship dropping from radar; then when she wakes, she resumes her après-sex haze drink and evasive chat like she was never softly snoring while I dared to stroke her forehead.

“I heard things are getting bad on Thessia,” I say softly, looking up at her.

Aria doesn't flinch. It's probably not news to her.

“The Matriarch's have put out an _edict_?” I say, uncertain on the concept.

She snorts. “Of course they would. They'd throw as many maidens at them as it took to save their blue asses.”

“You say 'they' – and I get that's the political collective – but aren't you a Matriarch?”

“Calling me old again,” she says with a smirk. “Didn't we already discover how hazardous that is for your health.”

“I felt pretty healthy after the last time,” I chuckle. “Revitalised, even.”

“I never assumed the title. I didn't need it by that point. It's just a stage of life. Last I was on Thessia I was a matron. And there was no going back. Prefer to sneer from afar,” she says cryptically.

“So it's been centuries,” I surmise, turning over and propping myself up on my elbow.

“Yes, Shepard,” she says, becoming weary of my probing.

“And you don't want to go back?”

“I've made my peace with never setting foot on Thessian soil again,” she says calmly. “They didn't want me then. I don't see why I should die for them now.”

There's a story there I so badly want to prise from her chest, as my hand rests there in a comforting fashion. Her cool skin belies the fury within her. I can see that even mentioning her homeworld and the ruling order has incited turmoil within her.

But there's no prising anything from Aria. If I've accepted that much of her, that's it. Though, it doesn't stop me trying to open her up at the times my chances for success are significantly high.

But it's the times when she's shuttered and the storm is raging within that my desire to plant affectionate kisses all over her face and neck becomes strongest. It's a tactic that rarely works to open her.

Might just this time. I see the softening in her eyes. The barrage of lip contact might have weakened her defences.

She parts her lips to speak--

\--And a Hellish door buzzer sounds instead.

The sounds drills through me until Aria reaches for her omni-tool, smashing a button to make the buzzing stop.

“Who's that?” I ask.

“Didn't I ever tell you I couldn't see through walls?” Aria says sarcastically, slipping her omni-tool on her wrist and sliding out of bed.

“Well who would be coming to see you?” I ask, as casually as possible. “You probably don't get sales, or Enkindler acolytes round here.”

“They all know who lives here now,” Aria says evenly. “After the Salarian youth scouts incident.”

I'm struggling not to ask.

“Best you stay here out of trouble,” Aria orders, counting on her nudity to bind me to her thrall.

Kind of works.

“Don't stray, Shepard,” she murmurs, leaning over and brushing my lips with a kiss. “If I see any item of clothing on you, don't think I'll hesitate to lash you for it.”

"We've already played that game,” I remind her as she wraps a white silk garment around herself and ties it with a firm knot. “I still got away with every bit of clothing.”

“I said – Lash _you_ ,” she says over her shoulder, as she walks away, her hips swaying more than they need to as she saunters away.

Tease. She knows I love her hips. It's my favourite part.

I should stay. I should relax in bed and wait for her patiently. I shouldn't get up, grab my t-shirt and underwear to protect my dignity and sneak to the end of the dimly lit hallway into an alcove that provides perfect cover for listening in.

But I can't help myself.

I sneak a glance round the corner to see the back of Aria reaching the door, before deciding the proximity makes that too dangerous.

I'm a goddamn N7 operative, I should have the skills to spy on my lover.

I think about her face if she caught me.

Nope. Too risky.

I'll just listen.

“They're nervous, Aria.”

“About what? I've covered everything.”

“They don't think you're on the up-and-up.”

“Are you _serious_? What rock are these people from?”

“They know you. But it's the company you're keeping.”

“ _Shepard?_ ”

“You hanging off a Spectre makes them nervous.”

“She's no where near this.”

“Yeah, but how they supposed to know that?”

“Get it done, Bray. Or I will. And you can tell them my associations are none of their damn business and I'll be making a personal appearance if this doesn't get smoothed out.”

“All right, boss.”

The hiss of the door shutting indicates that I should scamper back to bed, roll into the covers and pretend I've been there all along like a good, obedient girl.

But I'm a fraction too slow.

Doesn't matter. She knew I was there.

“You can come out now, Shepard,” Aria calls through.

Meekly, I reveal myself. Her face is difficult to read.

“Got thirsty,” I say unconvincingly.

“So you did,” Aria comments. Standing there with the folds of the white gown tumbled around her shoulders reminds me of the old statues of Greek Goddesses. She might enjoy that compliment – but now is the wrong time give such praise.

“Having problems?” I venture.

She should be angrier that she caught me eavesdropping. But she seems quite laissez faire about it – is that expected of me? Does everyone think I listen in when I feel like it, and just accept it?

“The little Volus bastard I'm trying to pry the last 12% out of isn't playing nice.”

“What problem have they got with me?” I ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Commander Virtuous – any one with half-way dodgy dealings wouldn't want to be near you,” she says. “You're a bigger pain in the ass than you should be.”

“You're near me.”

“But I fear no one,” she counters with a smile. “And I've seen what's under the armour.”

“And _Bray's_ negotiating for you?” I say dubiously.

“Don't be racist. He can be very eloquent,” Aria says airily, moving into the kitchen.

I follow quickly after her: “And he's negotiating in the middle of the _night_?”

“It's barely late evening Shepard,” she snorts, gesturing to the clock above the counter.

She's right. I came over a little earlier than usual, and time's a bit of a blur when we're together. I had just assumed...

“Shepard – just come out with it,” she demands, tensing herself for a confrontation.

“Are you telling me the truth?” I ask slowly.

“Why wouldn't I be?” she replies, just daring me.

Her nonchalance spikes on my internal bullshit meter, which in turn gives rise to a power-trip founded on assumptions and Traynor's vague warning that has been niggling away at me. The Commander façade slips on, which dangerously fuels my arrogance, and a certainty that I don't know everything about her. As she's always telling me.

I know I'm spinning, but I can't stop myself.

“If you are doing something that remotely resembles war-profiteering or taking advantage of soldiers or refugees – then so help me, Aria,” I warn her, my voice escalating. “I will bring my full force to bear on you – And I won't hesitate to use my Spectre authority to get around whatever 'in' you have with C-Sec here.”

“Shepard,” she soothes, almost patronisingly. “My 'in' is with Tevos. You're a council Spectre. So: good luck with that. And secondly – you have nothing to worry about. I'm ruthless, controlling and powerful – but I'm not evil.”

Can't argue with most of that. I know she's not evil. I hope I know.

She sounds convincing. But she's not saying much at all. Maybe she doesn't need to – she's already told me about Armax and the shares.

I was too quick to go for the throat. So much for my intent of giving her the benefit of the doubt.

But there is doubt.

“Let's not fall out over a little sim-combat arena, Shepard,” she says dismissively, pulling me into her arms. That confuses me: Her placation after I abruptly threatened to take her down. Or maybe she's forgoing her righteous indignation because she doesn't want to fight.

It's only righteous if I'm wrong.

I don't even know what I'm wrong about.

But something feels wrong. Is it the substance of the blackmail? There must be something sincerely amiss for the sellers to be so cautious about a Spectre's proximity to the Aria. I'm not known for collaring financial crooks.

I let her hold me, my hands awkwardly tucked up between us, as she pulls me to her chest. I think this is supposed to be comfort, but she's so very out of practice.

I think she senses this and tries to go with her strengths: She slides her hand down my side, over my hip and round to my rear for a playful squeeze. She kisses me on the cheek; then nibbles at my collarbone. Her other hand moves up under my t-shirt, to claim my breast with a firm cup. She pulls my trick of surreptitiously moving her palm to excite the nipple.

She's trying to make me forget.

Or maybe she's trying to do to me what I was to her just moments ago: use affection to prise me open.

I manage to extricate myself from her grip.

“How about I get you a season ticket for Armax?” she offers, like she's bribing a child with candy.

“Thought you wanted me 'nowhere near this'?” I recite dutifully. “Cause I'm just a 'pain in the ass'?”

“Punters are a different game. They'll _love_ you,” she says. “I could probably turn out a few pay-per-view events featuring the great Commander Shepard.”

“For charity, sure,” I negotiate, letting my mood recede slightly.

“Fuck, that white hat is permanently attached to your gorgeous little head, isn't it?” she laughs, pulling me in and giving a hard kiss to the face. She squeezes me so tightly it hurts.

The more tightly she holds, the more I want to slip away.

She's never been so desperate to hold onto me. Or maybe never tried so hard. She probably senses the unease within me. Or perhaps she has no idea what she's doing.

Eventually, I manage to untwist myself from her arms once more. She looks suspiciously at me once separated.

“Aria, I'm gonna go,” I mumble, looking towards the bedroom.

“Shepard, don't,” she says quietly, dropping all affectionate pretence. So quietly I'm struggling to determine if there's an inflection of anger or sadness in her voice.

“I've got--”

“Bullshit reports to read, crew members to corral, boots to shine – whatever,” she mutters, turning away from me.

I could stay. I could justify myself. I could try and sort out what the Hell is happening in my head and hers.

“Shepard, if you're going – just go,” she snaps. She's still aware of my presence though she's now propped up on a high stool in front of the window, with her back to me.

With the little light shining through the blinds, and her skin showing through reams of bundled white silk, she looks more majestic than ever. But her wrath is real. I should hope not to incur that before I can clear my head.

I really should go.

 

–

 

Just a girl, in a Citadel bar, staring at the same damn drink since I got here an hour ago.

I don't know whether to be grateful or somewhat offended to not have been hit on in this meat-market of a club. Escaping Aria's in search of a private drink coincided with the weekly singles night at the Dark Star Lounge. I thought about leaving, but relocating would cut too much into my drinking time – or 'looking at drink' time, as it turned out. I'm not as hardcore as I want to be.

However my luck may be about to change as I feel a presence behind me, and hear the clearing of a throat.

“Well fuck me sideways with a frigate.”

I know that gravelly tone. This is not a pick-up. I damn well hope.

“Aethyta. How are you? Feeling violent today?” I ask politely, half-swivelling round to her.

“It's early, give it time.”

“Do you want to join me?” I invite the Matriarch. Extending the courtesy should hopefully keep me from a beating.

“You're in my chair,” she points out.

“One right next to me looks just as plush,” I offer.

After a hard stare, which I'm too tired to return, she takes the seat next to me. Despite the several patrons that had been waiting patiently, the bartender recognises her immediately and serves up what I'm guessing is her usual: double measure of dark brown liquid with fruit perched delicately on the rim.

“So, went back to drinking to cope then Shepard?” she says, dipping the strange looking purple fruit in her liquor and sucking the alcohol tainted juice from it.

“Who's saying that?” I scoff, looking at the same drink I've been nursing for the past hour.

“Nobody needs to. I've tended bars for decades. I can recognise the signs.”

“You don't wanna hear about it,” I tell her, quite assured that she doesn't.

“You're right. I don't,” she shrugs, tossing the fruit on a napkin and downing half the liquor in one gulp. “So – you gonna ask how Liara is?”

“I was working up to it,” I admit, still not looking at her. Of course it's the first question I had as soon the Matriarch appeared beside me, but I was wary of getting smacked with her biotics again. “So how is she?”

“She's doing good,” Aethyta nods with a small smile. “Evacuating whole goddess-damn systems from Reaper invasions. That was last month. This week she's wouldn't tell me where she's going. But I think it's for that giant monstrosity your people are building.”

“The Crucible?”

“Yeah. She still reports to your boss. Does him favours. Sends him intel and people. Coupla' solo missions – research she tells me. Nothing she needs backup for, or I'd be out there like a shot.”

“Hackett? I know she was funnelling resources, didn't know she was still working with him directly,” I say, somewhat surprised. I know he sent her to Mars. Didn't know they'd keep in contact to the extent that she'd be working for him instead of the Matriarchs. Suppose it's because we're leading the charge on what we assume will be our best chance.

“The kid knows how to make herself useful. And she can do things no one else in the galaxy can at this point,” Aethyta says. “Probably has a wider-reaching comm network than most governments with the Reaper attacks. I know she was helping reconnect some homeworlds with their colonies and so forth.”

“Glad she's doing good,” I reply tightly.

I am. Goddess knows the galaxy needs Liara working on its behalf.

So consumed with thoughts of Liara, I completely tune out Aethyta and the surrounding bar noise. I think about the similarities to the way I left things with Aria, to the way Liara left things with me. I was pulling away from Aria, spying on her and confused enough at her intent to run. I wonder if that was how Liara felt with me. It's not wholly accurate, but I can see some commonality.

I don't even notice the ruckus brewing beside me until Aethyta starts shouting.

“Hey – I said what you looking at?” Aethyta challenges the Batarian and Krogan sitting along the bar from us.

“Not looking at you, sweet cheeks,” the Krogan rumbles. “Though maybe we shoulda been.”

“Your friend – she's Aria's pet human right?” the Batarian asks, pointing directly at me. “Girlfriend or whatever.”

_Girlfriend or whatever_.

Swell.

Aethyta's laugh comes from a place that terrifies me. “You hear that Shepard? You're the _girlfriend_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, trying not to give these guys full view of my face. I hardly know what to do in this situation, but avoiding it as much as possible seems to be a solid first step.

“Was: Saviour of the Galaxy. Now: little woman of big, bad Aria,” Aethyta howls, elbowing me in the ribs. That's not helping – unless she's trying to start a fight with me. I won't hold back this time.

“Yeah, _little woman_ ,” the Krogan guffaws, raising his glass. “Aria let you out for the evening?”

“Wasn't talking to you two scrubs – get lost,” Aethyta says, turning aggressively back towards them.

They almost think about displaying their exception to such an order from an Asari backed by a mere human. But they swiftly reconsider.

I wonder if that was Aria's reputation for wrath that caused them to not only leave their barstools, but vacate the club through the nearest exit.

“That's rich,” Aethyta mumbles, going back to being amused. “How does that feel, huh?”

“Doesn't bother me,” I lie. Not because I want fame. Would just prefer to avoid infamy.

“Yeah, right,” Aethyta snorts. “I was with Benezia for a hundred years. I know what it means to be the one at the side, holding the bag and referred to in the context of your beau.”

That's not me, is it? I'm not Aria's gangster moll, seeking the association to danger. I'm not the oblivious housewife, cleaning bloodstains and asking no questions.

Am I?

“Course it's not like that for you,” Aethyta says, answering my internal thoughts. “It was probably like that for Liara though.”

“Shouldn't have been.”

I recall Liara's frustration the last time I saw her – that awful night in her cabin, where she told me that when she dared to walk her own path I resented her for it.

I think I understand a little better. But she's not here for me to say so.

I almost wish she was here for me to tell her about this sudden epiphany – until I realise that's completely contrary to the crux of the issue. She shouldn't be waiting around for me to 'get it'.

“No she shouldn't,” Aethyta agrees. “Kid's off doing good while you're known in certain circles as Aria's arm-piece.”

“Maybe I'll see the bright side and use it to my advantage,” I say to the Matriarch. “Seems to come with a certain respect.”

“Aria's not all talk and bullshit – that's where the respect comes from,” Aethyta points out. “But any bullshit she does spin always seems to spring up roses anyway.”

“When'd you last talk to her?” I ask curiously. They've both been in the same place for a while now. Given the current situation it would be interesting to know if such a meeting had taken place.

“Last I talked to Aria, I was on Omega around the time Nezzie dumped my ass,” Aethyta recalls. “It was definitely after – cause I woulda remembered a fight with Nezzie about being in such an 'unsavoury place' with 'characters of such ill repute' if it involved T'Loak. Though those types of fights did happen to damn often... Just not involving Aria.”

“That why you didn't work out with Liara's mother?” I ask softly. It is slightly self-serving – I'd love the conversation deflected from me for a moment to breathe.

“Something the kid keeps asking me,” Aethyta says, swirling her new drink. “Hoping to hear a better version of the story. Don't have an answer for her. Only one who does is...”

“Benezia.”

“I was gonna say dead,” Aethyta mumbles into the now empty glass. She's powering through them. “But you're right too.”

“I get that your relationship ended,” I start cautiously. “But didn't you want to be in Liara's life? Don't know about Asari culture, but humans co-parent all the time when they're separated or divorced.”

“Wasn't my choice. Nezzie left me after I went off on another stupid merc contract to recapture my glory days,” Aethyta groans, reliving the memory. “Didn't just wanna be 'bondmate of Matriarch Benezia' any more. Was sick of her canned, proper life in politics. Just needed to breathe and hit something. Or vice-versa. Call it a three-quarter life crisis.”

“I can relate,” I nod, thinking of the tedious hours spent in diplomatic meetings this year which I've only coped with by imagining tactical situations – mowing down Reapers on a battlefield with wild relish.

“I did it every couple years, but it was wearing thin with her. Kept saying I was too old to be running about with kid gangs. She gave me an ultimatum that last time... but I didn't believe her,” Aethyta says, her voice choking. “Wouldn't of got on that damn carrier if I knew the house would be empty when I got back. Wouldn't have done any of that shit if I knew she was pregnant.”

“You didn't know?” I echo softly.

“Not until it was public knowledge over a year later when Liara was born. I read that I had a daughter in the damn gossip feeds, can you believe that?” Aethyta says, slamming her empty glass down and ordering another drink. This time the bartender leaves her the bottle. “Tried to contact Nezzie, tried to visit. She was done with me – as a bondmate, as a co-parent... And she had her squad of commandos make sure I was in no doubt to her feelings.”

“Do you think it was because you're Asari? Because Liara's...”

“Pureblood? Might've been part of it. Nezzie wasn't ashamed, or shallow. But it's something she woulda wanted to protect Liara from. Easier to do if the other parent is nowhere to be seen,” Aethyta shrugs. The quick succession of drinks consumed is showing in her now.

“At least you get to know her now,” I console.

“Yeah... I'm not gonna say any more. Said too much. Must be your annoying face, Shepard,” Aethyta says, polishing off another drink. “For all I know, that waitress is one of the Brokers' agents and that bottle of Brandy has a bug in it.”

“Has she been... keeping track of me?” I ask tentatively. I'm not sure Aethyta would even know, but what the hell.

“Not that I know of,” Aethyta dismisses. “Last thing she said about you was along the lines of outta sight, outta mind. That probably means you're not being followed.”

“Good to know,” I murmur, unsure whether that means she's trying to respect my privacy or doesn't care to know any more.

Wish I could master 'out of sight, out of mind' well enough. For just about anything in my life.

 

–

 

Aria's in the same place.

She has moved, I can tell that much by the glass of rum that wasn't there when I left. But she's still sitting by the window.

“I shouldn't have left,” I announce, the footsteps I take echoing in the dark apartment.

“Didn't miss much,” she says plainly.

“No, really Aria,” I murmur. “I shouldn't have left.”

“It's fine, Shepard.”

She's immovable by words or sentiment in this static pose.

“Do you want me to go now?”

She takes a moment. “No.”

“OK then,” I say, coming towards her. I don't feel bold enough to caress her. But I do dare to take sip of her drink, brushing my arm against her skin. A small, 'accidental' contact to rouse her, I hope.

She turns her head to the side, just to watch me as I replace the glass.

Hesitantly, I place my fingertips on the back of her bare shoulder.

“I do trust you,” I tell her, with so much difficulty that I think I may be lying.

“I know,” Aria replies.

Her tone says that she's lying too.

 


	26. The Weighing

**26 – The Weighing**

 

 

“It was pretty fascinating. You'd have loved it,” I say, popping another bit of Sushi into my waiting mouth.

Aria was right. She does have a standing reservation at the best Sushi place on the Citadel. Unfortunately for me, it's also the most expensive place on the Citadel. It'll be my credit chit carrying the burden after last night. I'd even thought about getting her flowers as a pre-dinner apology, but thought that would go down like Aria ramming a Cruiser into a kinetic barrier.

To avoid talking about anything that happened then (or generally anything tangentially related to our relationship, trust issues or any third parties involved) I'm taking her through a detailed mission report on my latest ventures.

This isn't really helping. The gentle fragrance of 'pissed-off' is still wafts in the air between us. And it isn't just because I'm boring the Hell out of her.

“Are you sure you're not confusing me with someone else?”

Her sharp tone halts me in my tracks. Maybe I've been talking about work too much. She looks at the food on her plate like it's my head, and she wants to stab it.

“What?” I mumble through food, struggling to swallow quickly.

“Ruins, artefacts and a mystery to solve – are you kidding?” Aria scowls. “That really sounds like _my_ idea of a good time?”

“Well you can't drink or beat any of those things,” I admit. “But whatever this is, it had control of an entire mining station for _ten years_. You'd be interested in that.”

“I thought you of all people would know that's not what I'm about. Reapers, Cerberus scum – those are the guys you want to talk to about indoctrination. Don't whether to be disappointed or disgusted that you put me in that category, Shepard.”

Well I've fucked that up. Just trying to make conversation that I thought you would be vaguely interested in, just to fill the silence. Because the less you talk, the more I'm convinced you hate me.

She shoots me her very special brand of a withering look, which I'm convinced could actually cause my skin to flake.

My scalp is itchy.

“Aria, I'm sorry...”

“Is everything to your liking, ladies?” the salarian waiter asks, suddenly appearing like he had arisen from under the table. How they always manage to pick the exact worst moment to ask that remains one of the galaxy's great mysteries. Either your mouth is full, or you're in the middle of this sort of conversation.

Aria brusquely waves him away without so much as a glance.

“I didn't mean you wanted that, just you might be interested... Different power structures... How absolute control functions...” I trail off.

“Power beaten then taken freely is the most satisfying. I don't want mindless drones obeying my every order. I have mechs for that,” Aria says disdainfully.

“What about power given freely?” I challenge. That she morally elevates her own dictatorship over an indoctrinated machine-like populous chafes slightly. Those people are oblivious tools at their master's disposal, but they don't live in fear under gang rule.

“Semantics. Especially on Omega.”

“We're not on Omega.”

I'm trying to keep my tone neutral and light, because I'd rather not irritate her more than she's irritated herself. There is a noticeable gulf between how I sound in my head and what comes out of my mouth.

“I. Am. Aware – Look at all these people,” Aria says, quite obviously gesturing to the other diners. “Blindly accepting decisions about their lives by people who've never had to draw blood for the privilege. They're weak and anonymous. They need to stand up, look at the snivelling varren-shits who call themselves their overlords and cast them into the dirt as unworthy.”

“And this is really the time for a revolution? Really, Aria?” I say, attempting to inject a bit more mirth into proceedings.

“I'd be willing to bet that most mutinies happen in war time,” Aria poses thoughtfully, lowering her voice just below a rallying cry. “A lot more at stake. The cracks of power look a lot wider.”

“You're a regular freedom fighter,” I marvel, looking round at the faces daring to cast a glance her way in response to her assessment of them. None of them even look close to retaliation for the insult.

“Always a fighter,” she says, a smirk coming into play. There is light there.

And it's gone. She's caught sight of something or someone just past my head. I resist the urge to turn around to see what demands her attention.

Maybe I should get to the real question. It's something I've thought about for a while, but considering last night, this might be the right time to--

“Excuse me,” Aria says, swiftly getting up and dropping her napkin on the table.

She walks past our table towards the blind spot at the back of my head. Now I have to turn around.

She hones in on her target. Two human men in business-wear, one holding a glass of red wine aloft.

Dear Goddess, I hope they weren't reacting to her calling for a Citadel revolution, or made eye contact with her, or coincidentally laughed at the wrong moment.

I see the back of her. She places her palms firmly down on the table between them, bends over, and leans into the ear of the human holding the wine glass.

A few words… A warning. A threat. I don't know. But I'm now aware that I'm not the only one tensely watching this exchange.

Then she pushes off and walks away. The restaurant breathes a sigh of relief.

I'm focused on her coming towards me, captivated by her expression that betrays none of the intrigue.

I am still completely enchanted by Aria. Perhaps it's because being in public in a fairly new thing for us, so it feels like I'm seeing her with fresh eyes in (literally) brighter light. Perhaps it's because the sex is still incredible, and every hypnotising sway and flex of her body just reminds me of that.

It's most likely that smirk. That knowing curvature of her mouth that drives me wild, because it holds all of her secrets. She wields her enigma like a weapon, and it cuts me to ribbons every time. I'll never know it all. Could never hope to. Every crack feels like a victory. In the height of intimacy, it feels like we're one body melded in the moment. But when faced with emotional exposure, I'm just a play thing to her.

Aria smile changes. It is not for me.

The shrieks of terror from the other diners prompts my brain to switch tracks from introspection to action. They've seen something I cannot.

Aria turns swiftly and sends a biotic Lash from each arm towards the two men. Both of them, and the table, are swept aside and sent crashing into the wall. The close proximity of the biotic attack meets them with maximum force, and they flop to the floor unconscious from impact.

Aria doesn't bother to check. She's already back at our table, unfolding her napkin and taking her seat just as I rise from mine.

In the aftermath, I see the two hand cannons on the floor bathed in the puddle of red wine, where they were seated moments ago.

“What was that about?” I ask, my high pitch probably upsetting the fish in the aquarium under our feet.

“I don't ask questions every time someone tries to kill you,” she replies calmly.

“What did you say to them?” I insist.

“A polite reminder about the hazards of operating on my turf,” she shrugs. “And that their repulsive faces were ruining my evening, and my appetite.”

“Charming as ever,” I say, shaking my head and taking a much needed slug of wine.

“I chased them and their hack crew from Omega five years ago. Amusing they think wearing cheap suits and eating out at the Citadel makes them legitimate players.”

“Must every evening end in violence?” I wonder aloud.

“It's not ended,” Aria says, turning her attention to her meal with renewed hunger. Biotic expenditure can do that. “Tell me more about your boring artefacts if you must.”

I draw breath. Am I really going to broach this? Is it even a good idea? It would keep wannabe gang kids from crossing her path and incurring her wrath at the very least.

“Hunting this doctor down is gonna take a while, I probably won't be back for a couple weeks. Maybe more,” I start off, just setting it all up.

“If I say you can't go off and save the galaxy, that just makes me the selfish one,” she says with a hollow laugh. “I'm sure I'll manage.”

“And there's a distress signal from your people I need to go check out,” I say misleadingly.

“Omega?” she asks, suddenly quite serious.

“Asari. Colony world Lesuss.”

Her interest disintegrates rapidly as she spears a piece of sushi on her chopstick.

“Be handy to have a local,” I say, wondering if she's getting any of my hints.

“Never even heard of it. For all we know, they're green over there,” she says dismissively.

I take another deep breath: “Look, why don't you come aboard the Normandy?”

“Can't see your crew loving that,” Aria says dryly, thinking she's clever by not giving a real answer.

“You let me worry about my crew.” I lean forward over the table. “But if you're not interested just say so.”

“I can't,” she says eventually, lazily sloshing her wine around the glass. “I have to be here.”

“You don't need to sit on a certain couch in a noisy club to be somebody,” I argue.

“Funny, how you still understand nothing of my business. Clients can hardly seek me out on an Alliance tin can. I have to be seen to be found.”

“Gonna skip past the part where you insulted my ship,” I say tightly. “Because I know you'll love once you get to know her.”

“Yeah, love some scrap metal wrapped round some eezo,” she snorts derisively.

“You love a rock wrapped around a some eezo,” I counter.

“Yes, but mine's bigger than yours,” she smirks. “And next you'll want me on missions with you. I've tried that once, Shepard, and while it was fun, I don't like putting my life in other hands. That's not how I got this far.”

“Not even my hands?” I ask, discreetly tracing my fingertips up her smooth arms. “They're good hands. You've _enjoyed_ these hands. They would never let you down...”

“Don't try to play me, Shepard,” she snaps, her eyes darkening. “Might work on your minions to get them to fight and die for an alien military – but I'm 800 years older than your pureblood bitch and far less susceptible to your brand of mind games.”

“Don't you ever call her that!” I hiss reflexively before she finishes, drawing my hand away that instant before I inflict damage.

She doesn't look shocked at my outburst. She's enjoying it. I think she knew what that button would do.

I look away, taking a gulp of water.

Instinct. Reaction. In-built response. That's all.

The wound is real. It stings. It's a horrible thing to say.

“Shepard,” she says sharply, drawing my attention back to her. “Relax.”

“Relax?” I echo incredulously. “We were having a nice evening out and you throw _pureblood_ out there?”

“Unlike my people, I don't consider pureblood to be any different from not,” she says calmly. “Just interested to see your reaction in return for your blatant manipulation.”

“You insulted someone you barely know to find my limits?” I snort, still feeling the residual anger from that word.

“Stress testing,” Aria replies. “Rarely pleasant. Even less so since she's been in touch recently.”

“How did you know that? Have you been--” I stutter.

“I don't need to read your mail to read you,” she says calmly. “I would _never_ invade your privacy like that. Unlike some others I could mention.”

“Subtle,” I utter under my breath.

“Where did you hear of this mission to Lesuss?” she continues, just baiting the hook. “Because I lied. I do know what's on Lesuss. They might as well be green for all the general Asari population is aware. You would only get an invitation through very _specific_ channels. High Command would never come to an outsider personally and it's certainly not one of Tevos' pet projects. Yes. Very _specific_ channels.”

It clicks. All roads lead back to one.

“I think I'm getting the theme of this evening, Aria,” I say slowly. “I think you're jealous.”

She snorts dismissively, throwing a hard stare my way. “You'll know when I am, Shepard. My jealousy comes with a body count.”

“Don't worry – it means that you care,” I tell her.

She snorts again, now looking away.

“And Aria,” I murmur, hoping to cajole her out of her ire. “It is so _sweet_ of you to care.”

“Don't call me that,” she says quickly, turning her face to mine.

“What – _'Aria'_?” I say dumbly.

“Sweet,” she mutters, now stabbing at a piece of sushi with a chopstick and chewing it like it's ash.

“What's wrong with sweet? If it's not dangerous enough for you, just remember that sweetness rots,” I tell her.

She's completely immersed in a mood and I can't stop myself tormenting her, which is clearly not helping.

“It was a three and a half line communication,” I tell her carefully. “Information. Mission spec. Reaper movements.”

“And what was the half line?” she asks quickly.

“What?”

“Seems oddly specific to mention,” she says.

“Full disclosure,” I respond, taking her last bit of sushi and chewing it slowly. “A general good wish to me and the crew.”

_Sort of_.

“Really?”

“She said she believes in me,” I reply honestly.

Aria rolls her eyes at this kind gesture.

“It's nice to hear,” I defend simply.

“She believes in you,” Aria repeats. “How very special. The Alliance believes in you. The Hierachy. The Krogan. STG. People on Earth, the colonies, the dozens of worlds you've saved over the years. And that's just off the top of my head. But if _Liara T'Soni_ believes in you? Well. That's the Biotiball game right there.”

I resist. I resist the urge to snipe back.

“I didn't hear your name mentioned,” I point out, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“I don't...” she bites her tongue. “I don't have dinner with losers.”

“Wow, that was almost heart-warming,” I muse, taking the opportunity to refill the wine glass.

“Shepard you don't need me – or anyone to prop you up,” Aria says firmly.

“Everyone seems to think I know what I'm doing. The Reapers, the war--” I trail off, taking the briefest of seconds to consider revealing the following: “...Or being with you. Truth is, I don't. This whole evening just proves that.”

“If it helps, I don't know what I'm doing with you either,” she says dryly.

“Ah, that's what I needed to hear,” I grimace.

“Listen to me, Shepard. You're arrogant. But you're not reckless. If you genuinely didn't know what you were doing and thought you would lose the war, you'd expose yourself. You wouldn't let them think it's you when you know someone else can do it better,” Aria scolds me.

“I'll draw up the list of candidates.”

“There's no list,” Aria says firmly. “No one can do it better. People have faith in you because they should. Or because I do – and they're all just following my lead.”

“Well...” I take a moment. “Thank you for that.”

“Least I can do,” she nods, leaning back.

“I do know why I'm with you,” I admit quietly. “The honeymoon is over. But I do know.”

“The what?” Aria says, genuinely puzzled.

“The haze. The beginning bit of a relationship when it's lust and passion, and you don't know what you're in for. Now we have an idea.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“So what do you think?”

“I think we probably shouldn't have dinner again,” she suggests unhelpfully. “This was a disaster.”

“I thought if... it was like it was on Omega. Fighting together. We could get past some things. If you trust someone with your life, the rest fades,” I sigh pulling my hair back. No indication from her. She's so damn difficult to read.

“Honeymoon doesn't translate,” she says, looking off. “But I'll bet I know the closest thing to it. _Yush-Kai_. It's the 'weighing', usually occurs in the first decade of being with someone. Of course it's you with your minuscule human warrior lifespan, so everything is accelerated somewhat. But it's where you both come to a reasoned decision if it's worth the baggage, the emotion and centuries to come. I rarely get past it. I rarely bother. But then, I rarely take tradition seriously.”

“Is it worth it?”

She turns back to me.

“I can't see how it's not.”

Her words are soft. But definitive.

Never thought I would be so relieved.

 


	27. Intervention

**27 – Intervention**

 

 

“Commander – you've got a situation in the War Room,” Joker announces over the intercom.

Combining ' _Situation_ ' and ' _War Room_ ' usually gets my attention. I put down the datapad on field reports onto my coffee table in my cabin.

“What kind of situation?” I call up.

“You better get down there.”

His brevity usually means something bad. His vagueness has me suspicious. His tone… is off.

I don't have much other option than to attend to the scene.

The Privates stationed at the door aren't engaged in their usual chatter. One of them failed to look me in the eye as I passed through the scanner. Something is definitely suspiciously bad.

I tug my hoody tighter, wishing I'd had the formality of my uniform for whatever is coming my way. Worst clothing failure still has to be dealing with the Dalatrass on vid-comm while wearing my evening dress. She didn't seem impressed – but I had no inclination of taking her up on her kind offer to betray Wrex and the Krogan so it doesn't matter much in the course of history. A _Fuck Off_ sounds just the same in dress blues as it does in a little black dress.

It all becomes clear as the doors slide open and I see my entire team assembled around the meeting table. Caged within the glass box it looks like the full set has gathered: Garrus, Tali, Ashley, Vega, Cortez, EDI, Javik, and even Samantha. Suppose Joker has to be the set-up man.

“Are you guys just coincidentally gathering to plan my birthday party, or is there not actually an emergent situation in the War Room?”

“Sorry Shepard,” Tali says, standing forward. “We didn't mean to ambush you.”

“Except that seems exactly how it worked out,” Garrus contributes with a sigh.

“We thought it was time for a team meeting,” Ashley says, standing tall.

I wonder who the ringleader here might be... If it's Ash, I can guess how this is going to play out. If it's not Ash, I'll be shocked.

“There has been some discussion among the team and it seemed logical to have a forum to raise issues with you, Shepard,” EDI says.

“I do not know why I'm here,” Javik admits. “And I do not care.”

“We know you're replacing Liara,” Ashley says abruptly, arms folded.

“I thought we'd agreed to say it any other way than that,” Garrus reels, turning on Ashley. “ _Any_ other way.”

“Ash didn't mean it that way,” Vega placates Garrus.

“Fine. Poorly put,” Ashley concedes, hands in the air.

“Just cause it's like-for-like, biotically speaking, doesn't mean that's what we're saying,” Cortez says, shifting uncomfortably.

“So, what _are_ you saying?” I ask of the rabble, knowing damn well.

“Aria T'Loak,” Ashley says.

“What about her?” Are we really all having a team meeting about my personal life?” The indignation in my tone has certainly shrunk a few of them, Tali most notably. Not Ash though.

“Are you _insane_?” Ashley challenges.

I look around the circle. “You all think I'm insane? That's the only reasonable conclusion?”

A chorus of “No Shepard!”, “Course not, Commander!”, and “Well, maybe...” echoes in this glass box.

“She's a criminal Shepard,” Ashley says, her voice carrying over the dying crescendo of voices. “No polishing that varren turd.”

I wonder if she knows about my conversation with Hackett, or the 'concerns' at Command. Maybe it's that flappy mouthed tech guy that told Samantha. Or maybe Ashley's got another agenda on-board. Wouldn't be Hackett, he was pretty clear he couldn't care less, so he wouldn't put a fox in my hen house.

Could be the Council. I stopped letting them push my buttons this year after they collectively denied aid for Earth, and then one by one came to me with their problems. Maybe this is a new way to annoy me: their own personal Spectre spy.

No. They wouldn't.

Going after me for the sake of Aria just picks off the scab for Tevos – and whatever hold Aria has over her. I really hope I hear that story sometime, but I'm guessing Aria would need to be pretty drunk to give up that secret. Has to be good from the way Aria had Tevos crawling in front of a lowly Customs Officer who dared to disturb Aria in Purgatory. Regardless of the reason, it isn't one the good Councillor would want aired in public.

“Who I choose to spend personal time with--” I start wearily.

“It's not just personal time,” Tali breaks in gently, taking the heat off Ashley. “But attacking you wasn't what this is about.”

“No, Shepard,” Garrus says.

“It's that you want to bring the friggin' Pirate Queen on-board,” Vega says, leaning over the table. “And she's probably not real cohesive for team morale.”

“Or great for the ship,” Cortez says tentatively. “Didn't she try to ram through the barriers on Omega with a warship you were on?”

“Shepard, I would point out that a provisional risk assessment on Aria T'Loak based on known past behaviour is not wholly positive,” EDI says.

“We can think what we like about you continuing your Asari obsession,” Ashley says, her words raising my blood pressure. I bite my tongue – _hard_ – to let her finish. Sometimes the best way to handle Ash is to let her vent. “And keep our mouths shut about it. But having her as part of the team? Not happening.”

“It's a worrying prospect,” Steve says diplomatically.

“Well, it's not happening,” I tell them. “Not right now anyway.”

“But that's not the end of it?” Vega asks, more curious than accusatory.

“It should be the end to this mutiny,” Javik grumbles. “If this was my command you would all be thrown out the airlock.”

“No one is mutinying,” Tali says quickly, the panic evident in her jerked movements. That word is more serious to her than most.

“Not mutiny, Shepard. Just a wake up call,” Ashley says, an edge of threat in her voice. “You can't sneak something that big past us.”

“I wasn't trying to sneak anything-- Actually, how did you all find out?” I ask, surveying the circle and resting on the only one I told about such an invitation.

“I'm sorry, Shepard,” Garrus murmurs. “I went down to Engineering to talk to Tali about what we discussed the other night. To get a different perspective. And I wasn't as, uh, careful as I should have been with the surroundings, and discretion--”

“We were overheard,” Tali interjects, always helping to save Garrus from himself.

“By the least discreet person on-board, I'll bet,” I sigh, looking around the faces. “And he's not here to defend himself.”

“Donnelly didn't mean it badly,” Tali half-heartedly defends.

“He's just loves gossip,” Cortez adds. “He told me, and Vega overheard _that_ , and...”

“I told Ash,” Vega admits.

“No one told me,” Javik says. “They likely feared for their death at bringing such inanities to me.”

“No one needed to tell me,” Samantha says so quietly that no one pays her any attention. She's leaning against the glass at the farthest corner and looks intensely uncomfortable. She'd be justified in an _I told you so_ about now.

“I'm sorry this is how we came to have this talk,” I start. “I value your opinions on the mission, the ship, the crew. You should know that by now. Each one of you is here because you have my trust, and my loyalty.”

Javik mutters something about the futility of loyalty, but I don't let him throw me off course.

“I hope I have the same from each of you. And while I'm happy to discuss any concerns that you have – I hope you know that I would never take a decision that would intentionally put you in jeopardy.”

“Tell that to Kaidan,” Ashley mutters under her breath.

I catch the comment and it jars. I try to let it go, but my mouth is too fast for my brain.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Williams?” I snap.

“Sorry, I di--” she tries to apologise, the look on her face showing she knows she stepped over the line. Her brain-to-mouth circuit must be on the same delayed feedback loop as mine.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. He would be,” I say harshly, intending to inflict enough damage for her to stand down before I put her down.

“He'd feel exactly the same as me about Aria,” she says with resurgent defiance. “I guarantee it.”

“He'd be a damn sight more professional about it to his superior officer,” I counter.

“I'm the same rank as you Shepard. Same Spectre status,” Ashley says, chin jutting out. “Just without the shady record.”

“I'm still your CO. You're on my ship. Under my command,” I say strongly, just simmering below the level of screaming in her ear. “I don't give a damn what you think you are. You're here for the mission.”

“It'd help if you set the example, Commander. Kept _your_ mind on mission – instead of bringing home the aliens you're banging,” she fumes, adopting an aggressive stance that makes me think the next blow will be physical rather than verbal.

“Stand down, Williams!” I growl, trying to contain myself in front of the audience. She doesn't flinch. “I've heard your concerns. I'll take them under advisement. Now: stand the fuck down.”

“Aye, Aye Ma'am,” she spits out, saluting with venom and marching out of the door.

I am not looking forward to dealing with that later.

For now, I need to reassure everyone else.

“This is about the mission,” I tell the remaining crew members. “Aria T'Loak is a seasoned combatant of immense biotic ability and would be an asset to the fireteam. I asked her to come aboard for an Asari-specific mission, at Lesuss where cultural knowledge might help. She refused. That's as much as I know.”

“Is it a standing invitation?” James Vega pipes up, unafraid to break the hush of the group.

“Yes,” I confirm. “This discussion hasn't done anything to question the validity of that logic. If there's anything that you want to say to me about it now, or in private, I'll listen and take it into consideration.”

No one volunteers their opinion. At least they're not studying the ground and avoiding me. Every one of them looks back at me; small nods and more relaxed postures all round.

“OK,” I breathe out. “If there's anything else...?”

Another chorus of statements to the negative rings between the glass plates and every one starts to shuffle out, leaving me leaning against the table.

Everyone, but one.

“Shepard, I am sorry about... this was my fault,” Garrus says slowly, coming to my side.

“It's OK, Garrus,” I smile weakly. “I always knew you had a big mouth.”

“I'm fine with who ever you recruit,” he says. “I fought beside Zaaed after all.”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “He was a pain in the ass.”

“And Jack was always threatening to tear the place apart,” he muses nostalgically.

“And Grunt smashed a window in the cargo hold,” I remind him.

“But it was Cerberus's credits, so who cared, right?”

“Precisely.”

“What I'm saying is – I trust your judgement and I don't disagree with your reasoning,” Garrus affirms. “There's a reason Omega hasn't been torn apart. And if you need someone with biotics to match yours... It's solid tactics to me.”

“EDI told me I was 12% less effective since Liara left,” I say quietly after some time. I thought it might not sting as much, saying her name, but the familiar twinge is still there.

“Good for you that I'm still here. You'd see that number drop by, what, 65 to 75%?” he says jovially.

“I'm sure,” I chuckle.

“Tali trusts you too,” Garrus adds, squirming a little when he says her name. Seems we have similar reactions when mentioning the ones that resonate a little too emotionally.

"Really? And how do you know how our Admiral feels?” I ask, amused in anticipation of more squirming.

“We talk,” he shrugs.

“That's how this all started wasn't it? You two _talking,_ ” I tease.

What I really want to say is _C'mon Vakarrian - get it together._ _The galaxy is a Reaper fleet away from being out of time and you're holding back._

Of course, not everyone needs to grab hold of another to make it through. His spine is made of more steel than mine.

“We have history. We've been here all along. And we're in the minority, aliens on an Alliance ship...” he trails off.

“But I'm sure you're including Javik in your minority chats,” I say seriously.

“He's not one for idle talk.”

“No,” I remark. “Convenient.”

He's squirmed quite enough. I want to let him off the hook. But he takes the initiative.

“Well... I have some work to finish up,” he says.

“You'll never finish calibrating,” I tell him.

“And you'll never stop fighting,” he says with an assured nod as he leaves.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Probably not in ten years. But one day, I hope.

–

“Commander?” the lilt of Traynor's voice calls after me when I finally emerge from the guarded doors to the War Room leaving behind the conference table of unholy interventions.

“Specialist?” I say, keeping as levelly professional as I can.

“Can we talk?” she whispers. Her attempt at discretion looking more obvious than talking to me normally.

I gesture over to the side of the elevator, hoping the few feet of distance will sate her, rather than going back into the glass box of discord.

“Noticed you didn't say much in there,” I sigh.

“Just wanted to apologise. And make sure you know that I had no part in organising that,” she says quickly. “Nor did I disclose any information I may be privy to.”

“Was pretty much Ash's opportunity to play to the crowd. I get it. Not to dismiss her concerns. Or anyone's concerns. I meant that.” I tilt my head to look at her and ask in a quiet voice: “Do you have a problem with Aria joining the Normandy?”

Traynor hesitates. “No, Commander.”

“You sure?”

“No,” she reinforces. “Character issues aside, she's an asset. That should be the overriding factor.”

“OK,” I nod. “But if that changes – and she does come aboard – you'll talk to me about it?”

“You'll be the first port,” she smiles sadly.

She takes this as the end of our conversation and starts back to return to her station.

“Hey – do you want to play chess some time?” I ask abruptly.

She looks at me, confused. Chess used to mean something else. I didn't want to plant that seed; just offer her a hand. Or hope she would offer hers. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe it's best that we don't try to be friends. But I can't shake the feeling that she's as lonely here as I am. Suppose that's how we started in the first place.

“I mean _actual_ chess,” I correct. “It's fine if you don't. Completely understand.”

“Vega's rubbish at it,” Traynor says. “And Steve barely challenges me.”

“At least I'm better than those two.”

“Didn't say that, Commander,” she teases.

“So, just let me know when you fancy a game,” I offer casually, stepping into the waiting elevator.

“I will, Commander.”

As the doors slide shut to squeeze her warm smile out of frame, regret gnaws at the pit of my stomach. Life would have been so much more pleasant if I'd fallen in love with her instead.

That's not to say that I've fallen in love with Aria – though that statement would imply that.

But I've not. Because nothing is ever that simple.

 


	28. Delivering Death

**28 – Delivering Death**

 

 

I kissed her goodbye this morning. Had to make an early run to the Embassies for my latest brief. I told her I'd see her in a few weeks. Turned out to only be a few hours.

I didn't expect this mission, and I couldn't leave without telling her.

I know she said she doesn't care. But she'd want to know.

The tuneless din of Purgatory echoes in my bones where Aria holds court. It's been a while since I've seen her at 'work'. I've avoided this hell-hole with good reason (that's 'shame', for the record). She looks regal as always, her face barely betraying any note of surprise when she sees me approach. She dismisses her “business associate” in good time for my approach.

“Back so soon?” she teases. She waves over her personal bar attendant to take my order; I shake my head towards the woman. I'm not staying that long.

“I'm going to Thessia,” I say loudly, competing with the bass. “I thought you'd want to know.”

She delivers a deliciously irritating smirk that says she know it all.

“Bit late with the news, Shepard,” Aria shouts, reaching down to chuck a bag on the sofa beside her. “Tevos told me before you'd even woke this morning.”

“In person or…?”

I don't mean to sound jealous. I hope I don't sound jealous.

“Please. Let's pretend that the good Asari councillor has some sense of decorum,” Aria snorts.

I look at the hold-all.

“What's that for?”

“I'm coming with you,” she says, necking her drink. “I assume the invitation stands.”

“I thought you never wanted to set foot on Thessia again?”

“I've seen the vids, Shepard,” Aria says, staring right through me to the other side. “If I don't go now, then I never will again.”

There was me thinking that the careful crew-handling and near-mutiny was all for nought. Now her bags are packed, and I'll need to break it to the team.

It should be fine. It will be fine. I didn't think she'd be packed and ready, or even prepared to leave her sofa, but I was clearly wrong. More like, I clearly believed the lie.

Not even Ash could have a problem with someone wanting to defend their homeworld while it's burning.

It's only now that all of the tactical complications come to mind – both in flight and on ground. I refrained from picturing the very worst scenario until I had to. Now I should start planning for the eventualities.

It'll be different from Omega. On Omega she had a reason to follow orders. She willingly gave command, and did it because I was the best chance to get her rock back.

Her motivation now? Nostalgia? There has to be something more to volunteer for this.

“How long has it been?” I prod gently.

Her back teeth are clenched as she speaks. Her usually fluid, yet commanding posture is turned to stone.

“There are some who are long past dying of old age that refuse to expire still exsanguinating asari society from on high.”

The unease that the malicse in her quiet tone stirs in me is difficult to ignore. I don't even know what I'm poking awake, but I can't help but feel complicit in any future crimes.

“The only mercy I can offer them is a wish of a quick death under reaper foot.”

She looks at me. Then laughs. A laugh to shrug it all off. A laugh to disperse the darkness.

I can't help but feel it didn't work.

Will I be bringing a primed Blackstar with a finicky trigger on-board my beloved ship with all of the people I care most about in the universe?

“Having second thoughts about the invitation, Shepard? If it helps I won't feel you up in team pow-wows, or whatever.”

Then there's on-board logistics... Sleeping arrangements... Should I really care what they'll say?

None of this can be enough for me to stop her defending her planet.

“OK,” I nod. “But you follow my orders on the ground, and on deck.”

“Don't give any idiotic ones, and there won't be a problem,” she shrugs.

“And be nice to the crew.”

“Be _nice_?”

“Be civil. Just don't kill anyone,” I sigh, hoping that the very least isn't out of our reach.

“That'd be inconvenient mid-space,” she remarks. “What would you do – chuck them out the trash compactor?”

“ _Aria_.”

“No killing,” she relents.

“Or maiming. Or any engage in any violence that conveniently doesn't leave marks.”

“Fine,” she concedes, hands aloft. “That'd probably be bad for the mission anyway.”

“Exactly,” I say with a smile. “Now you're thinking like a soldier.”

Aria takes a moment to look over every inch of me, the disgust plain on her face.

“That's the meanest thing you've said to me.”

“Just wait for your performance evaluation,” I whistle. “That'll be fun.”

“I'll do a performance evaluation of my own,” she threatens. “And you'll be able to read it on Al-Jilani's feed.”

“I seem to recall receiving numerous performance evaluations. Tons of positive feedback,” I say, faking a thoughtful look on my face. “Obscenities mostly. Far too blue to repeat in a hallowed establishment such as this.”

“I'd need to check the verbatim of these supposed remarks on capture,” Aria says coolly, her fingers drumming on the seat beside her. “That capture may find it's way into the public domain.”

“Empty threat,” I smirk, knowing she wouldn't debase herself so publicly. “You didn't think that one through.”

She gives me a daring look, but she should know that she's done for this round.

“Hope Bray's up to lounging on the sofa, because strictly no 'business' on the Normandy,” I tell her. I have no idea what she could or would do, but it really is best never to underestimate the reach of Aria T'Loak.

“Of course not, Commander,” she nods. “It's all in hand.”

Slowly, she draws her eyes off me with a knowing smirk. She must be trying to wind me up, but you never can tell.

 

–

 

There's one more thing I have to do before I welcome Aria aboard: be the bearer of bad news. Seems to be all I do these days.

Another datapad on a dead soldier. Another delivery to a waiting spouse. Another widow.

They're not the first couple this war has torn apart. It's been only a few weeks since I broke Ereba's world.

Ereba still works at Blue Rose. I can see her now behind the counteras I approach the lone Asari on the stairs overlooking the Commons marketplace.

I remember them both on Illium. He, a hulking young Krogan proclaiming his love for her with verse; and she, a conflicted maiden Asari who needed a little push towards clarity and to commit to the male who loved her so.

From Ereba's reaction when I approached her with the message, I don't think she remembered me. It's nice not to be recognised sometimes, but that wasn't a remotely important factor at that moment.

I knew exactly who the Krogan was as soon as I played the audio-file on the datapad. Haven't met too many poetic Krogan. Wrex shared a deck with Ashley for a year and I believe his restraint from violence in the face of overwhelming verse his greatest achievement on-board, and that's saying something for all we went through.

Charr and Ereba were a sweet couple. I'm sure that Wesha and her widow were equally as worthy of each other.

It's gone now.

I've already lost a love to this war. Not in death but distance and indifference. I'm not entirely sure I can blame it entirely on the war, but when everything we do is so steeped in it, it's difficult to see past it.

If the Collectors hadn't killed me, would we still be together?  
If there wasn't the war, the Reapers, the Crucible would Liara have been so nonchalant?  
If I didn't need to be weak with someone because I'm struggling to be strong – would I have been so angry with her?  
If Aria had never kissed me, if I had never went to Omega – Would Liara still have left?

Yes.   
Hope not.   
No.   
Perhaps.

Liara was tethered to me by a thin thread, begging for me to make the cut.

It wasn't insecurity. I don't think it was, though now I question everything. It didn't _feel_ like it was insecurity that drove her to continually probe the status of our relationship.

I told her what I hoped for us. I don't think I could have been any clearer. My vision of our future extended past the Normandy into the decades. I planned my life to be with her. And though it was just a fraction of hers, she couldn't do the same.

She kept asking the question. It wouldn't die.

Illium. The Broker ship. My quarters last year. Mars. Her cabin.

And all the times in between that I had to explicitly state that I wanted to be with her. Like it was completely my choice alone.

I remember the final time. That was in her office this year.

Again she would parse her emotions with rationale and deftly created another get-out clause. Appeared to be designed for me, but it was really for her.

I took it, because I believed that's what she really wanted. And I know what happens to people who stay in relationships because of obligation. Love her too much to let her become that.

_Shepard, there's something I need to ask before we go any further._

Just friends. Let's just be friends.

For the briefest of moments she looked devastated but her composure was quickly regained. I'll never know if it was sadness or shock.

But that was it. No fight, no protest. Barely a whimper. As suspected. I was right. It really wasn't the hellfire and hysteria that you would think the breakdown of a great love would deserve.

Perhaps that's my own childish view. Either way, I sobbed brutally enough for both parties.

Regardless of the anguish and the infected wound left in place of our relationship, I would still rather be Liara and I, than this Asari with her bondmate now molten in the cinders of the Ardat-Yakshi monastery. At least Liara still exists in the cosmos and I know the galaxy is infinitely better for it.

For the briefest of moments, I imagine the unimaginable. The horror that lives in the depths of me. I imagine that I stand where this Asari widow does, and someone is about to rip Liara out of my world with a meagre farewell message on a datapad.

Would she leave me with a datapad – even now?

I can't pretend that if I had but a few shallow breaths to give, it would be for my last words to her.

Just the briefest flicker of this scenario causes my knees to wobble and the bottom of my stomach to collapse. The knowledge that this isn't real is the only thing that keeps me upright.

I have every empathy for what I'm about to do this widow.

With a deep breath, I open my mouth to speak to her and ultimately break her heart.  
  
Time to deliver death. Again.


	29. Aria On Deck

**29** **–** **Aria on Deck**

 

 

“And this is my place,” I say, opening my cabin door, letting her walk in first. I'm oddly nervous about this. Almost as nervous as I am at having her aboard at all. “Not as big as the bathroom in your widow's apartment, but flashy by Alliance standards.”

Aria walks in, carefully taking in her surroundings. She's probably not impressed. Although she's not a stranger to ships, and this is outstanding in terms of military quarters (though probably because it was hawked from the private sector) she's obviously used to a different class of accommodation.

The hamster – of all things – catches her eye first. She inspects the cage curiously. She taps the glass – he comes out of his cubby to see what all the fuss is about. Bewildered by the big blue finger, he turns tail and scurries back inside.

“Like a mini-varren,” Aria says softly.

“But prettier,” I say, defending Frank. How dare she compare him to a varren.

That brings her to my display cases, which she follows slowly from Frank to the other end. She's scrutinising my models a little longer than I'm comfortable with.

“I like ships,” I say nervously.

“I can see that,” she replies coolly.

“Got into collecting them last year. Replaced the friends I didn't have at the time,” I joke weakly.

“You're quite the little anorak, Shepard,” she comments, now surveying Sovereign. “I don't see much missing from the collection.”

“There's a couple I have my eye on, but they're pretty pricey and a Volus kid from Nos Astra keeps outbidding me,” I shrug.

“Goddess, your old ship was that small,” Aria says of the SR1 model. “In comparison, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I repeat with a weak laugh.

She turns back to face me, leaning back on the desk and letting out a soft laugh as she shakes her head in amusement. “I'm with... a geek.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, waving her away and walking down to my bed.

Aria crosses over to study the fish tank up close.

“Don't even start on them,” I warn her. “They don't need your shit.”

Her head follows the fish as they swirl about in their habitat. She pushes the button to deploy their feed and smiles as she watches them jostle each other to the top of the tank.

She turns to me, rather dramatically and says: “You've named each one of them, haven't you?”

“Well, you name your minions,” I retort lamely.

“Yeah, but only when they do something worthwhile,” she sighs, coming towards me. “Saves the memory and any minor emotional attachment.”

She passes me by, now inspecting my small desk. She picks up the cracked King chess piece with a chuckle.

“Get much use out of this?” Aria asks, holding it over her shoulder.

No one plays with me any more.

“Preferred the other memento,” I say coyly, a shiver up the spine to the base of my neck. The ghost of my implant remembers that night well.

She places a hand on my old N7 helmet. Just when I think she's about to speak; a sarcastic observation no doubt, she thinks better of it and comes towards me instead.

Aria slips an arm around my waist, kissing my neck so very delicately it damn near makes my knees buckle.

“And this,” she says, turning her attention to the bed. “Is what? Where the magic happens?”

I squirm in her grasp, the reverberations of the kiss having turned me into a fumbling idiot. She couldn't do more to make me feel like an awkward teenage boy with a hot girl in his bedroom for the first time.

I don't know why I say boy. I just imagine they're as easily toyed with as I am, and equally incapable of being cool about it.

She laughs as she sees me struggle to return a playful or sexy retort.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, feeling shy and defensive. “You've made fun of Frank and tormented my fish and called me a dork--”

“A geek,” she corrects, solemnly.

“Whatever,” I say, unwillingly letting a smile start to creep in as she trails her fingernails over my arms.

“Your place is obviously a hole in the wall,” she remarks. “But it's very much you.”

“Thanks,” I say, accepting her kiss. “You can put your bag over the other side of the bed. We'll get your weapons down to the armoury.”

As I move in for another kiss, she pulls back abruptly, eyebrow raised.

“Put my bag where?”

“Over there,” I gesture to the far side of the bed.

“Because...?” she draws out.

“Because you'll want your things near you?” I venture, not quite knowing what the issue is.

“Because after a couple months, I'm shacking up with you?” she says quizzically.

“That's not what this is. And I didn't think it would be a problem for now,” I say slowly. “And you always want me to stay at yours...”

“It's a couple days voyage, Commander. Have to retain the appearance of professionalism,” Aria says. “And I need my personal space. Us – in here – all that time... I'll blow a whole in the side of your ship.”

“It's not like there's a lot of spare rooms with a view to choose from,” I reply, a little amused at the thought of her in bunk beds in the crew quarters, or dealing with the hard cot and constant din of the sub-engineering deck that seemed to comfort Jack. She'll be crying out for my cotton sheets and springy mattress.

“I know of one,” Aria says pointedly, heading out the door with bag in hand.

 

–

 

She's navigating my ship like she's been here before.

To be fair, it's hard to get lost on the straight shot from my cabin to the elevator. She presses for deck three and doesn't say a word. I don't ask her where she's going. Maybe she's heard about the bar in the Port Observation Deck. That would make most sense, I suppose.

But when she gets out the elevator, she doesn't take a right. Instead she heads through to the main part of crew deck, towards the mess – towards the Battery?

I begged Garrus to do anything he could to be pleasant to her – but if she gets up in his weapons Battery to wind him up, he's going to throw a tantrum unbecoming of such an upstanding (but unofficial) second-in-command.

No. Not the battery. Of course.

Aria diverts down to the entrance of the old XO cabin, recently vacated by a certain other Asari.

I'm a couple of steps behind her at this point and pick up the pace to follow her through into the cabin.

“Acceptable bed. Window. Some space. Helluva lot of junk,” she ticks off aloud, throwing her bag on the bed. “It'll do.”

What am I supposed to say?

She's made her feelings clear about staying with me. Needs her own space, that's fine. I can hardly tell her she can't stay here but for the ghost of my ex-girlfriend, or that it feels uncomfortable to have her bunk here for no practical reason. But with space at a premium and her expectations unlikely to be sated by any other option, I can't conscientiously object.

“Fine,” I breathe out. “I know there's a lot of stuff in here. You can tidy around if you want. But don't chuck it out somewhere. We don't have the room.”

“Really? I was just gonna take it up to the airlock,” Aria says with a grin. “Do a little house-cleaning.”

“Best not,” I say, lightly warning her.

“Fine – I'll make do with rolling out bed into whatever this huge useless thing is,” Aria says, giving a metal stack an ever so slightly petty kick.

“Good. So you wanna grab a drink with me and watch the stars in the Observation deck?” I offer, hoping to siphon off the potential tension. “Later, once you're unpacked and I've got a few things under control.”

“Only if you promise to control yourself and refrain from humping me, lest your tech girl walks in,” Aria says wryly.

“I'll be on my best behaviour, if you'll be on yours,” I say pointedly. “That goes for any of the crew, as discussed.”

“Relax, Shepard,” Aria grins. “She probably likes me more than she likes you right now. And I promise I won't call her 'tech girl'.”

“Guess that's all I can ask for,” I sigh, looking around the room.

It was completely untouched until Gale Force Aria rolled into town.

Haven't been in here since she left that day. No one else should have been either. It was exactly as she left it – until now.

 

–

 

A few hours later and after an abridged tour of the ship (which definitely leads me to believe she's looked at some sort of plans for the Normandy) with surprisingly little crew interaction beyond the guys in Engineering – curiously minus Tali, I lead Aria back to the Observation Deck for a drink on her first night aboard.

We're just outside the door when I hear the reason that we managed to avoid nearly all of the crew.

“Pony it, Vega!” a gleeful, and perhaps inebriated, Tali commands.

“That's not how you say,” Vega groans.

Aria's already through the door before I can hold her back.

Vega, Cortez, Garrus, Tali, Ashley and Traynor all turn from their poker game to give us a warm, welcoming Normandy silence.

“Hey guys, who's winning?” I ask, resisting the urge to chuckle nervously.

“Well, me, _obviously_...” Tali says, a little past the point of sobriety to care for the tense atmosphere. Bless her.

“Commander--” Joker's voice sounds out from the overhead comm. “I've got a couple issues up here for you to take a look at.”

“You might want to say that in a way that doesn't worry the people having a night off here,” I advise Joker.

“Ah right. It's not a huge deal. We probably won't die,” Joker drawls sarcastically. “But I've got a hysterical diplomat in one ear and nav comm in the other trying to justify their job with EDI on-board.”

“Be right up,” I tell him.

I turn to Aria, ready to apologise and aware that six other pairs of eyes are on me.

“Commander. It's your ship. Can't let them fuck it up,” Aria says, shrugging it off. I think, for the slightest moment, she looks awkward.

I feel like I should touch her to reassure her – I know she doesn't need it, but I feel I might. But the audience is making me reconsider that instinct. And I don't know if I should lead her out of here, or make up something fake to do, or somehow manage to--

“Hey Aria – you know how to play poker?” Garrus asks, mandibles betraying his cool.

“Playing for real credits or for varren?” Aria asks.

“Real credits. A tiny amount of credits, but real all the same,” he shrugs. “Why – do you play it different with varren?”

“It's quicker,” Aria shrugs.

“I suppose the varren can get out of control,” Tali contributes, enjoying her pink drink.

“Nah. It's the Krogan you're playing with. Short attention span and shorter temper,” Aria says coolly.

“Glad Wrex isn't here for that one,” Garrus says, leaning back in his chair.

“Or Grunt,” Tali reminds him. “Always with the headbutt. Suppose that's the point of making it a quick game.”

“Seeing as they're not and we got a free chair – fancy a game?” Garrus offers. “The buy-in is disappointingly low.”

“Even by Quarian standards,” Tali jokes.

“Yeah, I'm not even gonna get a new pair of socks out of it when I win,” Vega says, nodding to the empty chair as he downs his beer.

Cortez pulls three bottles of beer from the cannily repositioned fridge behind him. He cracks them open: sits one in front of Vega to replace his empty, places a bottle at his own seat and holds the final one out to Aria.

“It's embarrassingly actually. In the colonies we played for whole pre-fabs,” Cortez says as Aria accepts his offer of alcohol.

“As long as you accept that you'll be losing to sound strategy from a Kepesh-Yakshi Champion,” Traynor says with a genuine smile. “Then you're more than welcome.”

“Since you've really sold it to me...” Aria says, allowing a little uncharacteristic warmth to show in appreciation for the crew's gestures and probably as a favour to me.

I couldn't be more grateful and more proud of my crew. Every one of them. I would say except for Ashley but at least she's not been stupid enough to say anything. That's progress for Ash.

“Great – well, I guess I better get back to work while you slackers enjoy your evening,” I announce as Aria takes a chair.

I nod to Garrus a silent expression of my gratitude. He smiles and nods in return as I leave.

Hopefully within that minute gesture he also got the message that he needs to call me ASAP when the table's flipped and the shit hits the fan.

 


	30. Interlude - Thessian Hold 'Em

**Interlude – Thessian Hold 'Em**

 

 

Thank the fucking Goddess no one of note will find out about me associating with this ragtag bunch of washouts and sycophants.

I've forgotten their names already, but have given them charming monikers for my own benefit:

Giggly Suit, Vain Meat, Mangled Face, Cocky Nobody, Sulky Cow and Tech Girl.

Truth be told I do know the name of that last one: Samantha Traynor, Shepard's erstwhile lover before the Commander was fortunate enough to discover better. Traynor certainly left an impression when she sought me out. Stupidity is a familiar companion to curiosity, but I think she made a calculated decision that might have been just a little brave to come to my club. There is something attractive about that sort of behaviour in someone with her obvious combat deficiencies.

Would stand to reason that they all might prove to be as interesting underneath, but I really can't be bothered to find out. Surface will suffice.

“I'm out,” Sulky Cow groans, throwing her cards down. She kicks back and slugs from her bottle.

I wish I could slice Sulky Cow down the middle to see if she bleeds blue and white for the Alliance. The bisection would be justified for the variety of dirty looks she's been throwing this evening. I'm trying to be good, trying not to murder one of Shepard's people, but this one makes that a much more challenging promise to keep. Desperately hoping she dares to start something with me so I can end it.

On the basis of his strained expression, it looks like Vain Meat has an issue he wants to resolve – and I'd be more than amenable to applying violence to the problem – but I think he's just concentrating very, very hard on not being a moron. Can hardly blame him for trying to compensate for his shortcomings.

Cocky Nobody throws some more plastic discs in the middle. He teases the Meat. He's clever, this one. He doesn't just play the cards, he plays the game. I can't get a good read on him, and that annoys me. It seems like he's not as scared of me as he should be, and that annoys me more.

Mangled Face and Giggly Suit clearly have something going on. And I'm not just saying that because I've heard Shepard incessantly gossip about it into thin air. They're sitting very closely, passing inaudible remarks to each other for a low chortle from him, or a tipsy giggle from her (Have you ever heard a Quarian giggle? Like a Volus, with higher pitch); almost like they've teamed up to win. Pity both are nearly flat broke.

Face, however, does seem to be trying to pull whatever conversation he can out of me. Almost like he was tasked to do so. I know he's Shepard's main man. He's actually one of the reasons Shepard first came to my door. I know him by another name: Archangel.

The Archangel era on Omega was certainly interesting. And fucking hilarious. It was amusing seeing the premier mercenary outfits in the Terminus Systems shit the bed and try to throw it all at one guy with a goofy visor and a gun. That he got out of that with half a face intact is an achievement.

I'm trying to measure up her crew last year with this. Suit and Face were still here. I think they have been all along, if military docs on the Sovereign clusterfuck are to be relied upon. The crew names were probably the only information in there that wasn't redacted or fabricated varren-shit.

I know there's a couple bodies from last year that Shepard wishes she had on this shiny new suicide mission. She convinced a group of rational, sentient beings to follow her into the jaws of death. Besides them all being drama queens (i.e. preparing the entire year to die and coming back with barely a scratch on them) that takes some serious leadership talent.

She's charismatic. She's enigmatic. She's sure.

Least she used to be. I know there are doubts. I'd slap them out of her head if I could, but I don't think that's effective in humans. At least not this human.

It's not my job to fluff her ego. She has this band of misfits for that, when they're not throwing a hissy fit about matters that don't concern them.

If I'm a distraction from the chaos of annihilation, so be it. Never said that I didn't need a little distracting myself. I don't even want to entertain the thoughts of Thessia.

You're never supposed to know when the last time is the last time. I didn't know that when I hijacked that frigate out of Armali that would be the last time I saw the shape of my homeworld, whole and un-scorched.

Distraction. Sitting here, playing a pointless game for tokens of an economy that probably won't exist when this is all over, with my new 'crewmates' while the human I'm screwing talks the galaxy's leaders off the ledge. It's all just a necessary, if periodically satisfactory, diversion.

“Show 'em,” the Meat dares me.

I toss my cards face-up. He contorts his face to make himself even uglier. He's beat.

I unceremoniously rake the chips to my already sizeable pile. These children prove no contest. Especially Tech Girl who's been out first on nearly every hand. Kepesh-Yakshi Champion, my blue ass.

“Crack another, Cortez,” Meat tells Nobody. “I gotta go scrape whatever credits I've got stuffed in my socks.”

“You don't need to go to your bunk for that,” Sulky Cow says, forgetting momentarily how mad she is at everything in order to smile. “Don't you stuff your socks down your pants?”

“Oh, you think so, Chica?” Meat laughs, standing and opening up his muscular frame to gesture suggestively at his crotch. “You dig it out for me.”

I've always prided my high tolerance for depravity, but that was too much.

“Bit of a role reversal, huh Vega?” Nobody says, joining in the fun with the big kids. “Usually it's you stuffing cash _into_ panties.”

“Hey, man, you can't take it with you,” Meat says jovially, as he heads for the door. “Don't mean you can be stealing my chips when I'm gone.”

“What chips?” Suit pipes up.

“I could probably do with filling the pot as well,” Mangled Face says. “I know where Shepard hides her model ship fund, and I don't think I've ever gotten a bonus. So, in the spirit of C-Sec, we'll call it Miscellaneous Funds Appropriation and never tell her about this.”

“Let's take a break,” Traynor decides, vocalising what pretty much happened five minutes ago.

As nice a gesture (for Shepard's benefit) that giving me a beer was, I need something stronger to maintain my dulled edge and keep my word. The bar beckons.

Giggly Quarian has already set up shop there for the break, as she perches on a bar stool.

Shepard would think poorly of flat-out ignoring her. Like I give a shit. But still. Should say something.

“You drinking?”

That went well. Even. Almost nice. Shepard would be proud of me. Seems I do give a shit.

“No, no, no,” Suit purrs. “The one… ones I had already went to my head I think.”

I think there's mileage in this one. Couple more and I'll have her guts on the floor. Metaphorically, of course. I wonder what I can make from the mess.

“Let me make you my speciality,” I offer graciously. I say 'graciously' because last time I offered to make a drink for someone I wasn't sleeping with, it was to poison them.

“No… I'm probably fine,” Giggly says slowly, casting an eye back to the poker table. “I should be more careful.”

“You're a smart girl,” I tell her firmly, reaching into the depths of memories I was barely paying attention to for her name. “Tali. You'll have a drink. And you'll be more than fine.”

I don't wait for her to give her assent, and turn to pull the dextro-amino liquor from the lined shelves behind me. Nice to see the Alliance didn't skimp on the booze budget. Still no Noverian Rum.

She divides her attention between watching me, and watching her Mangled beau count out whatever credits he's managed to pilfer. So distracted she is that she doesn't see the extra shot mixed in there. I shake it up and pour it out – even providing her with a fresh straw.

When she turns back to the bar, the drink is ready and waiting.

She looks at it suspiciously, which is fair. It could be poison – In a thousand other alternative universes it would be. Not this one though.

I nod towards it. She delicately places the straw to the port on her helmet.

One thing about you lose in Quarian interaction is the facial clues. That's why I have never done a deal with an all Quarian crew. Well, the reality is that they don't exist. There isn't a bunch of suited bastards running about Omega pretending to be a gang. One or two have fallen from grace in their pilgrimage and turned to crime instead. Not common, but it does happen. They fold themselves in with a bunch of misfits and have a go at trying to be tough guys.

But you would never catch me standing across from one at an exchange. Need to see the eyes, the crease of the brow, the curve of the mouth to tell if they're reaching for their gun. It's not racist, it's pragmatic.

Point is, I can't tell if Giggly's enjoying the cocktail until she lets out a sound of approval.

“Wow, that is really good,” Giggly says, sucking on her straw like a tactile outlet for her obvious sexual frustration.

I could do something about this. I could play the game. And it wouldn't really be just for my own amusement.

Might as well. There's nothing else to do for several light years.

“Keep going like that and you'll be dancing.”

“I don't dance much,” she admits. “Not much to dance about these days.”

“Dance was a major part of your culture,” I recall. “Few hundred years ago, before your people fucked it all up.”

“Yeah that's kind of what happened,” she agrees, with some sadness.

“But you've got your homeworld back,” I point out, hoping I haven't tipped her into boring melancholy-drunk.

“It's still surreal,” Suit says, with an almost adorable tone of wonder. Adorable if you're into that sort of thing.

“Lived a lot in bars. Watched a lot of people. And I've always found dancing analogous to sex.” I note her tense at the word. “There's a parallel with the exodus, the suits and the dancing. And the sex.”

“Never thought about it,” she says quietly into her drink. It's almost finished. And Mother said working in a bar would get me nowhere...

“I had sex with a Quarian anthropologist once,” I say. “Al fresco. Before the suits.”

Giggly mumbles an acknowledgement through her straw. Clearly venturing into uncomfortable territory.

I lean across the bar, and lower my voice just so. “She still got a fever.”

“We've never been the hardiest of people,” Giggly Suit says, with a nervous hiccup. “Smallest rupture and my temperature goes crazy and my skin--”

“Worth it though, wouldn't you agree?” I ask.

Her silence confirms everything I need to know. I'm also starting to lose patience with this careful manipulation routine.

“How many times have you followed Shepard to certain death?” I ask abruptly, stirring her from her introspection.

“Too many,” she responds, thrown by the change of direction.

“You've been on the edge of death for years. It's your natural state. You should be living while you can.”

“I'm not the type of person who would just go out and grab the nearest--” she stammers hotly.

“Wise-cracking Turian with the melted face?” I nod towards the male in question.

“Garrus,” she says pointedly. Wonder if that face is flushed behind the mask. Time for tough love. Or, tough disdain from a vague acquaintance.

“Yes - Garrus. It's so obvious it's almost redundant to say it, but I will,” I tell her with a hard stare. “Stop fucking about or you will regret it. You're dead, he's dead or the Reapers kill us all. And you'll go cold never knowing.”

That hit her. It's the reality of the situation. It's why even the strongest of us need to claw at each other to feel, for the anaesthetic of carnal pleasure. It sobers her, and she sits up straighter.

“If it helps,” I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, grit my teeth and spit out the words, “he feels the same way.”

“How do you know that?” she says immediately and very seriously.

“I've lived your lifespan ten-fold,” I say, trotting out my favourite line of superiority over other races. “I know.”

She casts a glance backwards to the poker crowd, Mangled Face among them.

“Thanks, Aria,” she says softly, slipping off the seat and heading towards him.

Barely a day on this bucket and I appear to be doing 'altruism' now. That was much harder work, and wasn't nearly as amusing as I thought it was going to be. And as I watch the Suit approach Garrus, and touch his hand to prise him from the crowd, it's sickeningly heart-warming.

\--

Meat looks sullenly at my dominant pile of chips. It's been over for a while, but he's yet to leave the table. Everyone else has retired to the lounge seats with more alcohol and louder cackling.

“Hey, Aria,” he says, his game face slipping and an infant human smile breaking through. “You gotta teach me how to clean house like that.”

“I take my secrets to the grave.”

“There's cold, hard deniro to be made from these suckers.”

“Not while I'm here,” I point out. “Which won't be long. Then it's all yours.”

“Really just here for the mission, huh?”

“One mission,” I clarify, eyeing my diminishing level of liquor.

“Can't blame ya,” Meat sighs, lightly drumming his fingertips on the tabletop. “If it wasn't for Shepard, and the 'bigger picture', I'd have been on the first carrier back to Earth.”

“Heard it was bad,” I say. Empathy is not my strong suit, but at the end of the galaxy, exceptions can be made.

“You ain't heard nothing. It's fuckin' unbelievable,” he growls, subconsciously making a fist.

“What's unbelievable?”

Sulky Cow places a fresh bottle of beer next to his fist. Her hand grazes his ever-so-slightly. Their collective rage and indignation would be better served in a filthy rut at the back of the cargo bay. But I've expended enough effort tonight in that department.

“Earth. Reapers. Fucking everything,” he growls, tipping the bottle against his lips.

“Oh it's believable,” Sulky says as leans hard against the back of a chair between Meat and I. “But you have to see it to believe it. Giant fucking roaches marauding your home, tearing up your planet. Crushing millions. Turning the dead into bastardised horrors to kill the rest.”

“Ash...” he says softly, his eyes darting towards me in a non-too-subtle cue.

Sulky Cow looks at me for the first time tonight – and it's not with malice, which is the surprising part. Not that I care one way or the other. She should know I'll put her down before she gets her best shot off.

“Better to be prepared,” she says firmly. “What we're hearing from Thessia… All of it's bad.”

“I am aware.” That was the most neutral response I could summon to that condescension.

She thinks better about preaching. “Just gotta keep shooting.”

“I intend to.”

She nods. Brevity of sentiment is something we can agree on.

“I think the Commander would call that a moderately successful evening,” Traynor says.

“Moderately,” I agree, casting an eye over my winnings. Meagre, but satisfyingly symbolic.

“Well you won,” she says abruptly. “Not that I was playing for keeps, so I wasn't really in it to win... so it was a default really... but there you have it.”

She's actually quite an attractive stumbling mess of a human. It's the ineptitude combined with an attempted attitude that makes her an easy but perhaps enjoyable mark.

“Is my translator glitching on human metaphor bullshit again?”

“I didn't have a problem with you coming aboard,” she says haughtily. “Told the Commander so.”

“Bet you did,” I smirk. “Good for you. Nice to have that feeling of emotional superiority to keep you warm at night. Much better than a screaming climax.”

“Well there's another Normandy love story now: Tali and Garrus slipped off together a few minutes ago,” Traynor says, doing admirably well to let my remarks roll right past. “I know that was you.”

“Don't know what you're talking about.”

“Never thought I'd see Aria T'Loak playing Cupid,” Traynor says, enjoying herself with a smug smile.

“I don't know what that is,” I sniff.

“It was a nice thing to do,” she says, in that I'm-An-Absurdly-Genuine-Person way that makes me want to punch her in the throat.

“Shut your mouth.”

It was boredom. It was manipulation. It was supposed to be fun but turned quickly tedious.

It was… whatever.

I should probably mention it to Shepard before she takes credit.

\--

“You'll be pleased to know that Fleet and Flotilla: the sequel came to its climax tonight,” I announce, the doors to my cabin still wide open as I march through. “Or they should be coming to climax right about now, next door.”

“What?” she says curiously, sitting up in bed. Her red hair is stuck to one side of her head. It's vaguely cute. She has been sleeping. I wonder how long she's been here while I was with her people. Why she didn't come back is another key question.

“Sui– Tali and Garrus,” I correct, begrudgingly. “Fucking. Or they damn well better be.”

“No...” she says, her mouth hanging open like she's doing her best to sexually repel me. “How'd that happen?”

I think better of it. I shrug and sit on the edge of the bed.

Why would she come down here to sleep? Was she on her way back to poker and took a detour? Was she seeing how long I could last? Was the 'urgent' comm from her pilot pre-planned varren-shit to test me with her people while being close at hand?

Or, was she waiting for me in ambush for deviant purposes? If she was, I would have expected the appropriate garments. She didn't want me in this room, quite plainly, and now she is happy to wait here alone for an indeterminate period of time?

Why do I care?

“Doesn't matter,” I dismiss, expending more effort on pushing away my own concerns than her enquiry. “It's not like she mounted him at the poker table. But it should be happening.”

“That's amazing news, can't believe I missed it,” Shepard smiles softly to herself, roughly running her hands through her wild hair. “That's really great.”

“How you can get such vicarious pleasure from that?”

“Because they're my closest friends. If finally got it together will make them happy. Which makes me happy,” Shepard says in a spectacularly condescending tone. “Feelings are fun. You should give them a go.”

Fuck off. Shut your fucking mouth. Speak to me like that and I'll gut you.

These are all valid responses, in my opinion.

Instead, I narrow my eyes and hope that a hitherto undiscovered biotic ability to cause fleeting but indescribable pain in tiny pinpricks all over her body conveys the sentiment for me.

“It was you, I'm guessing. You have little time or pity for the unfulfilled and gave a shove in the right direction,” Shepard says, grasping for my hand and pulling it towards her to manoeuvre me further up the bed. “Because you were… feeling bored or mischievous. Or both.”

“The real cruelty is that you all have been tending that little flower for years, thinking it'll blossom any day now, but not understanding that it's withered and pointless and has actually turned into two people too repressed to fuck and too awkward to change the fact.”

She laughs. She touches my face. She slides an arm around my waist to wind us closer together. Heat radiates from her. It always does when she awakes.

“Love your metaphors,” she murmurs, her head tucked against my clothed chest. There don't seem to be hands wandering or palpable sexual intent from either of us.

Fuck. It’s getting _cosy_. And I’m vaguely fine about it.

“So, was the night as horrible as you feared or was there some tiny element of 'OK' in there?”

I could be glib. It's easier. I could deflect. It has less of an aftermath. I don't know what is possessing me at this moment.

“Shepard – your people. Your people are all right.”

She looks at me with a stupid grin on her face. Not the charming crap she tries to pull, but a grin of genuine joy.

I made her happy. And I feel good about it.

Fuck.


	31. Thessia I

**31 – Thessia I**

 

Steve hasn't said a word. Wisely.

Javik sits perfectly still, riding the turbulence of the shuttle's flight with ease.

Aria paces. Caged.

I think she's working herself from fear to anger. If not fear, then anxiety. I don't know what memories await her down on the surface of her homeworld.

From the images on the screen, I can only begin to estimate the devastation that the Reapers have inflicted upon Thessia. Smoke billows from the cracked remains of what were once gleaming structures in the “beating heart of galactic love”.

A strong (and some might say flowery) sentiment to be sure, but the Reapers are making a point of gouging that heart right out. Smashing the apex of democracy. Shattering the crown jewel of the galaxy.

I always wanted to go.

My mother spoke fondly of her tour of Thessia; stationed there on diplomatic detail. The Alliance had quickly assessed the Asari as the primary target for trade and negotiation partners as they entered this new galactic order. My mothers ship accompanied the various dignitaries – as what better way to herald relations with a new species than to have a dreadnought in orbit. Over the six month posting, my mother took every opportunity for shore leave to explore this new world.

She spoke of beautifully formed cities, reaching tall towards the stars; pristine parks and squares; lush valleys and beautifully clear waters. It sounded like paradise. The very best of what we could aspire to on Earth.

My early service in the Skyllian Verge and Terminus systems didn't give me much chance to traverse the Athena Nebula. My encounters with certain Asari cemented my desire to visit. I promised I would go.

To Serrice in particular, to see a bunch of relics at the University in specific.

This is _sort of_ the same.

I never imagined that when I finally made it here that the face of Thessia would be so tarnished.

The shuttle door opens as we steadily descend to the landing zone. The view is breath-taking in its beauty and horror.

The beautiful pink sky illuminates the outline of devastation. The city crumbles around us, and under the shadow of the several Reaper destroyers marauding the landscape.

“This isn't fucking real,” Aria growls, brandishing her shotgun high as she jumps from the shuttle.

The choice between reprimanding her for failing to wait for my orders or allowing her to feel the grief for her homeworld in the hope it will fuel her resolve isn't easy.

I jump from the shuttle, landing behind her. Javik soon joins us.

“Aria,” I say close to her ear. Low enough I'm hoping the shuttle engine will mask the conversation from Javik. “Follow me. I go first. On my orders.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Her reply was meant to be sarcastic, but the scale of the situation flattened her tone. She looks in awe at the metal behemoths before us.

“This is the first time you've seen a Reaper,” I say slowly.

“In the flesh. So to speak,” Aria says.

“I assume this stationary position is part of your master plan, Commander,” Javik says.

“You'll know my master plan when I do,” I tell him. “Move out.”

I lead them down the rubble to the camp below. Lieutenant Kurin is our contact. I identify her immediately – she's the only one of rank down there, as they rest scramble around to her weary orders.

A rudimentary barrier blocks the small camp from Reaper onslaught on the bridge. Body bags line the path between us and a grounded gunship. Air support above this battlefield and against this enemy is suicide. Must be their last one.

“Lieutenant – Outpost Tykis is running out of ammunition,” an Asari soldier reports to the dark blue officer.

“We all are – tell them to make every shot count,” the Lieutenant responds.

What she's really saying is _I can't do a fucking thing about it._

“Lieutenant,” I call out as we approach her.

“Commander, we heard--”

Kurin staggers as an attack hits from the bridge.

The barrier is blown to bits. The force ripples and several soldiers cascade backwards like ragdolls. Some are dead before they hit the ground.

“Commander we'll talk later,” she says quickly, pointing to the side of the barrier “Get up on that gun and do some damage.”

Always too happy to greet Reaper troops with a fully automatic weapon, I leap to my station and open fire on the husks pouring over the side of the bridge.

Of course, that would be too easy.

I now have two brutes coming towards the biotic barrier being shakily held by an asari soldier.

I fire until the clip burns out. Discharge. And hold the trigger again.

The noise is the soundtrack of my life. Constant drilling gunfire boring through the enemy. Takes a couple clips to obliterate both brutes but eventually they fall.

Not done, I turn back to the husks clawing at the biotic barrier. They disintegrate to flakes of ash in the hail of bullets.

Those flakes were people once. The brutes, however, were multiple people. Mutated krogan and turian with an unhealthy dose of reaper tech.

First met them on Menae. Just a deadly preview of the horrors to come in this war.

The husks and brutes stop coming for now. I relinquish control of the gun and jump back down.

The Lieutenant hurries along the battle-line, barking multiple orders at her soldiers who obey without pause. She turns to me.

“Commander I'm Lieutenant Kurin. We're been told to expect you. My orders are to hold this grid at all costs.”

Again we are interrupted by Reaper attack. A harvester fly-by bombing takes aim at the biotic barrier; the asari soldier within barely hanging on.

“Shore up the barrier!” Kurin orders immediately. “But our perimeters collapsing and I'm getting my people out of here.”

Can't blame her. But can't let her do that.

“This is important. We need your help,” I plead.

She wants a reason why. I can't give her one. It's a tough order to follow

But I try.

She tells me the scientists have gone dark. They're probably dead. Doesn't matter – we need to get there regardless if we know what we're looking at.

The Lieutenant has seen too much death in the past few days – the past few hours. She doesn't want another one of her people crashing to the rubble with lifeless eyes. I don't think she could take it.

My pleas are useless. I haven't swayed her.

“I'm sorry Commander. If your relic has lasted this long, it can wait a little longer. I've lost enough people today. I'm pulling them out,” she decides.

And Javik does what Javik does.

To us 'primitives' it looks like mind-reading, rather than ability to understand energy and experience through physical contact.

But it convinces her. He tells her who is was, is and should be. Absolves her of her failing courage by promising what we can only hope:

“Find your resolve. This war can end if you do.”

Javik releases his hold on the Lieutenant. She believes his words with new strength.

His mind-reading is impressive to us primitives.

“I believe it,” she gasps. She holds up her omni-tool. “This is Lieutenant Kurin. Hold your positions. I want a path carved to the temple. Outpost Tykis. We've got people coming your way. Lets make sure the galaxy knows the war was won on Thessia!”

It's no 'Hold the line', but it works: her people are recharged by the courage of their leader and voice their assent.

It's time for us to tread the path they're cutting out for us. I look to Javik and Aria, ready to embark on our battle to the temple. Javik's thirst for vengeance is matched only by Aria's thirst for death.

“Commander wait--” Kurin calls behind me, her omni-tool at her ear. “We've got someone who can help.”

“Who?”

I think Kurin responds, but her words are drowned out by weapons fire, the gunships' engines, soldiers yelling, and the thunder in my blood.

No matter.

This chaos is silent to me as she approaches.

Liara.

A determined, yet elegant stride. A half-smile. She is coming to me.

Pink flecks in the sky behind her. The Reaper in the distant horizon seems dwarfed by her presence. I am rooted.

My lungs are rendered temporarily non-operational.

That is to say: I can't fucking breathe. Or I forget to.

Whichever it is. Whatever.

“Liara.”

What should have been a warm greeting communicating how relieved I am to see her well and here unfortunately sounds as if I've gargled with Krogan phlegm.

The violent churning of my stomach is causing me some minor pain. The irregularity of my heart makes perfect timing with the mounted machine gun fire in the background.

“ _Liara_ ,” I try again, purposefully sounding out every syllable and loving the sound of her name on my tongue again.

She's here. She's whole. She's alive. And I hope to the Goddess she is here to help.

“Shepard,” she says smoothly as she reaches me.

Were her eyes always so blue?

A whimper as a response won't do. Especially not in present company.

Present company – _fuck_.

That sobers me slightly. I stand a little straighter and cast a glance out of the side of my eye to Aria and Javik. She's not in an attack stance, which is all I can ask for.

“How are you?” I ask, trying not to sound so casual in the midst of a war-zone.

“I've been better,” Liara replies with a grimace. “My people are dying down here.”

“Know the feeling,” I empathise.

“And you?” Liara says, a flicker of a glance towards Aria and Javik before her eyes are on me again.

“Here and breathing,” I say.

“Normandy? Everyone aboard? I've been keeping an eye for any intel in case...”

“Everyone's in one piece,” I reassure her.

Pleasantries exchanged and I'm not quite sure where to go from here. I'm still drinking her in like a cold cocktail on a warm day, with a helluva kick in the aftertaste.

“This is all lovely,” Aria breaks the silence. “But what are you doing here?”

I'm surprised to hear Aria show her irritation. Her tone perfectly nonchalant – but the words betray her.

“They knew you would need assistance to understand the ruins, so they sent the Prothean expert,” Liara says, exclusively addressing me.

“Don't need a Prothean expert. Have a Prothean,” Aria quips, vaguely gesturing at Javik.

“All the same, I'm coming with you anyway,” Liara says, trying to steady her voice and purposefully not looking at Aria.

“Glad to have you,” I say with a nod. “Anything you can tell us about where we're going?”

“The coordinates are for the temple of Athame. My mother took me there once. It's several thousand years old,” Liara says, glad to slip into a professional veneer. “And for some reason it has classified government funding.”

“Interesting,” I remark. “Sounds like we're on the right track.”

“Is it?” Aria challenges lazily. “Matriarch's have been sneaky fucks for millennia.”

“And Benezia took you there?” I prompt Liara.

“I was just a child. I thought it was just a history lesson. But maybe there was more to it,” Liara says.

“What do you mean?” I ask, ignoring Aria's short exhalation of annoyance.

Liara casts an eye down to her omni-tool.

Love this. Love Liara in full knowledge mode. Focused and insightful and so fucking clever. Always makes sense of what I’m pointing my gun at.

“I went digging through her old files. She had heavily encrypted records on this place. Some dating back centuries. I still can't crack most of them.”

“All fascinating, I'm sure,” Aria says impatiently. “But Benezia's archives are irrelevant to getting through the hundreds of Reaper drones between us and it; while more Destroyers touchdown and wipe out entire commando squads in one attack – so can we _please_ get fucking going?”

Eventually and somewhat reluctantly I agree.

“We should move out. You ready?” I ask Liara.

Liara nods stiffly. “When you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have guessed from the title, I've split the Thessia chapter into two parts. I won't be too long before posting the second.
> 
> Thank you to all for reading, kudosing and commenting this year. Always love to hear what you think and it gives me a wee boost when I'm going round in circles (and apologies for being shocking on the response front since hiatus)! Hope everyone is having a nice holiday season and a wishing good new year to all.


	32. Thessia II

  **32 - Thessia II**

 

Twisted metal and liquefied flesh in bi-pedal form. That's all these monsters are.

I tell myself that something so shoddily put together can be torn apart. I've done so since Eden Prime. When they are gone, they are nothing but flakes of skin. They are nothing.

I keep telling myself that as the husks pour out like viscose fluid from a doorway at the top of the courtyard, bodies crawling and rolling over bodies in the rush to get us.

We're in the midst of what was a gleaming metropolitan area. Perhaps somewhere the workers sat for lunch with colleagues, or enjoyed some relative peace underneath the tall white structures they served.

Now it's debris and death. From a hasty body count of those that came before us, it appears that an entire unit was lost here.

I don't mean for us to join them as I demolish a Cannibal with Javik's power and my own biotic Charge. As I'm coming out of the phase, I hear the squabble on the other side of the courtyard.

“I fucking had that one!” Aria yells back from her advanced position.

“It is not a competition,” Liara replies flatly, maintaining position behind a knee-high wall, still firing with her sidearm.

“We'll see,” Aria snorts.

Immediately, Aria takes that as a challenge and starts rushing at the husks. She lassos one with a biotic Lash and uses it to sweep down the horde before her. The rhythmic discharge of her shotgun echoes my own heartbeat as she finishes each downed husk with a shot through the skull. Her clip has to run out sometime. She weaves through the bodies, now leaping to their feet. She's gonna get swamped.

“Aria!” I bark. “Behind the line!”

Though her back is turned, I know what her expression is. To her credit, she heeds my command. She kicks one in the face and vaults back over the shallow wall to re-join the team.

“Did you want me not to kill them, Shepard?” Aria snipes. “Give everyone a chance to play?

“I want you to follow orders,” I say firmly, attempting to level my voice despite the pounding of my blood from the fight. “I want you not to rush into the line of fire and obstruct the range of your team mates.”

Just squeezing into the corner of my vision I'm aware of a vaguely smug expression on Liara's face as she shapes a singularity to her liking.

“They're dead anyway,” Aria growls, her stare hardening as her eyes look past me to the other asari. “But _aye aye,_ Captain.”

“Commander,” I correct.

“Well aware. _Commander_. You think I don't know your--”

_haaaa_ _ aaarrh _

Aria's impertinence is quickly silenced when an otherworldly shriek slices through the air.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Aria says, almost annoyed by the interruption. Her eyes dart about looking for whatever dared to make that noise.

“Something to kill,” Javik says. He's helpful in a grave sort of way.

I'm the only one here who knows what monstrosity that soul-chilling sound heralds.

“Ready weapons – It'll look slow, but it comes at you quick,” I tell them, signalling the team to fan out.

The spindly fingers precede the twisted and hideous form of mutated Asari as it shuffles from the wreckage of the far building.

“By the Goddess,” Liara murmurs, her eyes and weapon fixed on the emerging Banshee. “How did... What is this abomination?”

“Banshee,” I tell her. “Reaper Asari.”

“Hey, this is what your mother and her psycho Turian boytoy wanted,” Aria spits over at Liara, as she ejects a thermal clip. “Join em, rather than beat em, right?”

Offended as Liara is by that remark, she doesn't let the petty comment sway her focus from the real threat.

“Aria - Focus on the Reapers,” I warn. “This thing will be on you before you know what's mauled you.”

Surprisingly lacking a pithy comeback, Aria moves fluidly into attack stance and takes aim with her shotgun.

Without order or hesitation, Aria starts firing at the Banshee. The rest of the team follow suit; a hail of bullets all concentrated at one target. What should be a precision javelin strike is swiped aside as a mere annoyance by the Banshee.

The scream rumbles in escalating volume. It's going to warp-jump.

It lands closest to Aria. She seems satisfied with a closer foe.

Aria doesn't relent her weapons fire while I order Javik and Liara to use their powers in concert to great effect. We are weakening it, but still it advances.

Its next warp-jump puts it in swiping distance of Aria, who's quickly running out of ground behind her. If she realises the grave danger she's in, she doesn't show fear of it.

I bark instructions at Liara – then launch into a hasty Charge headlong into the beast.

It definitely feels different biotic-headbutting a Banshee. Different to other Reaper troops. Different to Asari.

The flesh has a strange sinewy, almost elastic quality. Despite appearances of very little protection, I can feel the tissue absorb more damage than even an armour plated brute.

It wails on impact. Liara's Warp comes a fraction too late – and the Banshee strikes me down before I can follow up with the requisite Nova. We must be out of practice. I think I hear an exclamation from Liara as I hit the floor.

This distraction has given Aria precious latitude to shoot the Banshee twice in the head at point blank range with her shotgun. It's done. It knows it.

The Banshee screams; wilts and crumbles. It curls to the ground, wailing as it leaves its second wretched life.

A rough grab from Aria has me on my feet before I'm ready. I stumble, the biotic energy from the banshee still fizzing my nerve endings – but straighten myself without aid.

“Shepard, are you all right?” Liara says, her voice partially drowned out by the echo of the death shriek.

“Fine,” I cough, really not feeling it, but knowing this is no time for a quick lie down. “Let's move.”

“Right behind you,” Aria says, throwing a look in Liara's direction.

“You must be exhausted, Commander,” Javik remarks sardonically. “In my cycle this is why military fraternisation was met with swift death.”

“I'll never tire of the old cycle anecdotes,” I reply, barely withholding a sigh.

“That is an intriguing paradox for a highly militaristic civilisation during an extinction event,” Liara starts. I sense a Prothean researcher geek-out coming on. “Sacrificing numbers for–”

“Liara – Later,” I interrupt, picking my way through the chunks of debris.

“Later, as in she's taking four-eyed shell-head with her,” Aria mumbles. “I fucking well hope.”

“That's a bit racist,” Liara responds indignantly.

“If it assists Commander, it was the soldier of lower rank that was executed, leaving the superior officer alive to serve the empire,” Javik says, seemingly unaffected by any racial slurs.

“Yeah. Helps. The thought soothes me,” I mutter, reaching the entryway from which the banshee emerged.

\--

I doubt we leave any survivors at Outpost Tykis. There was only one commando left to begin with. It was not so much an Outpost as it was a wall for to hide behind. The fight up the mound was brutal. Banshees, mauraders and ravagers. A gunship helped carve a path for us that we cut through double-time, wilfully ignoring the screams behind us.

It keeps getting worse for Liara. The haunted look in her clear blue eyes is now a tortured one.

As we scramble over an ornamental fountain that has seen better days, I note Liara's belaboured sighs. The further we travel, the more people we see die, the deeper it hurts.

“This nightmare never ends,” she almost whispers, her words just audible over my shoulder. “This can't be the last I see of Thessia.”

“Shepard, so glad you brought along someone to express how the devastation is personally affecting her. Adds colour,” Aria calls wildly from the rear.

Liara wheels around to meet the older Asari's withering look. I note that Liara has one hand on her weapon.

“Are you so cold that seeing your homeworld like this doesn't effect you at all?” Liara says shrilly.

“I'm cold because I'm not crying over the buildings and ornaments of the elite and corrupt?” Aria snorts, pushing past her to advance up the field.

“Millions of our people are dying down here!” Liara yells after her, clearly unconcerned with maintaining our stealthy approach.

“Shut up, both of you,” I order. Aria still saunters on. I don't know if that's her way of diffusing the situation but I doubt it'll be successful.

“This is our homeworld and they're eating it alive,” Liara says, pointing towards the closest Reaper Destroyer marauding the horizon. “Everything we are is being devoured.”

“Perfect politician's daughter, breastfed on the bullshit,” Aria says, wheeling round to face Liara and holding her arms out to frame the scene behind us. “Thessia isn't for us – it's for them. How many Matriarchs can you see on the front line? This is their world and we're dying for it.”

“Suppose you don't want a world that isn't ruled by a tyrant backed by her murderous gangs,” Liara snipes; her despair, her fury, her anger burbling to the surface.

“Thessia isn't the beacon we all pretend it is,” Aria sneers, her swagger towards Liara intent on aggravating her. “It's a patchwork of Republics threaded together with the lies that power spits out. You'd know that if you weren't such a naive child – barely past your first century and you think you know it all because you stole a spy ship.”

“Or perhaps it's because last time you were here you were banished from your world by a Volus of all people?” Liara says darkly, barely containing her breath within her chest.

“So kind of you to put that in as little context as possible to mask what little knowledge you wield,” Aria snarks, though if I'm not mistaken her voice was shaking ever-so-slightly.

We better find something to shoot soon.

Can't believe I'm wishing for another Harvester fly-by attack.

“I'm sorry,” Liara says slowly, with an unnervingly malevolent smile on her lips. “Did you think that of all the secrets in the galaxy that yours alone would remain so?”

“Guess you took a special interest in gossip when I started fucking your ex,” Aria muses caustically. “Just to be clear – Shepard had cast you aside by the time I had her hard, slick and begging in the Purgatory toilets?”

Liara has _that_ look in her eye. She won't shy from this challenge. I doubt I could stop her but my curiosity allows me a moment of hesitation: time ample enough for Liara to take her opportunity.

“A crooked Volus diplomat by the name of Carlack-Din hired a mercenary group to hijack an Asari vessel bound for the Citadel to steal secrets.” Liara's voice erupts from her with steady, assured power as she begins to unfurl her revelations. “Asari mercs recruited for our natural talents in espionage to infiltrate one of our own ships. Pity the leader of this band was more disposed towards brute force and carnage as the contract quickly escalated to a failed hostage situation with matriarchs murdered and the drive core sabotaged as a last resort. But you managed to escape.”

Aria barely twitches in recognition.

“It wouldn't be the last time you'd survive a destroyed spacecraft, as you repelled any mercs sent by the Volus to silence you, including one of our own dear krogan friends,” Liara continues. “Not to mention an edict from Thessia ordering your execution after trial-in-absentia, which meant you had to flee Asari space from Justicars and law enforcement.

“You spent several years drifting through space, evading assassination before landing on a hollowed-out asteroid to call home. That the current Asari councillor came to be appointed at the same time you came out of hiding is curious, to say the least. There you launched a successful coup against the station's Krogan chief, fortified the base as your own dictatorial haven, and changed your name. You may ' _be Omega_ ', but you weren't always Aria.”

Liara gives her best winning smile.

“How am I doing?”

Fuck. Last time she said that we had a ton of Yahg coming at us.

Aria's much lighter but thrice as deadly.

To mine – and Liara's – surprise, Aria simply smirks.

“Amusing,” she commends Liara, before finishing airily: “Children and their stories.”

She laughs dismissively (and rather convincingly); shrugs and walks away.

That was like standing next to a bomb that you cannot disarm and you cannot outrun; so you just hold your breath as you watch the timer tick down to... nothing.

Or the explosion may have happened and I'm blissfully unaware as I'm scattered in a thousand fleshy pieces.

No. I'm here. The soundtrack of gunfire lets me know I'm still here. The gunfire allows me to block any of my own reaction to this unspooling of the mystery of Aria, and focus on the mission.

“Are we killing Reapers or what?” Aria calls from several paces in front of us, toting her shotgun in a manner more befitting an upstart Eclipse sister than a soldier.

Liara's face darkens, and a quick spring from her back heel propels her forward. I catch her arm to halt her blatant second wave of attack.

“Get your head in this,” I warn quietly, close to her ear. “That's the end of you and her.”

“You didn't know any of that,” Liara hisses. “You don't know who you're dealing with.”

“I know what we're fighting. That's all of the relevant information I need right now.”

I've never seen anger crushed by disappointment so swiftly. Liara's face crumples and I see her hand tighten around the grip of her gun.

“ _Shepard_ ,” she pleads. I know how deep this goes. I know what that means. It means _how could you take this woman to your bed? How could you do this?_

I can't answer that right now. I can't dare to.

Luckily, I don't have to.

(and this war has given me a bizarre appreciation of what constitutes luck)

Two Harvesters plant themselves at the end of the walkway we've been lackadaisically traversing, blocking our path once again to the temple. We all scramble behind the jagged stone fragments of demolished structures that jut out from the ground like haphazard teeth.

With ineffectual covering fire and heavy bombardment at closer proximity to a Harvester than one is comfortable with, we're not making much headway. Most exposure is to pick off stray husks that'll be on us if we don't take them out. Javik is mostly on cover fire. Liara's doing her best with biotics but it isn't enough. Aria's firing her weapon like it’s on full auto and she's fallen asleep at the trigger. This is poor field tactics, and my responsibility – but we're just trying to stay alive.

“Shepard – perhaps you could explain to _her_ that a shotgun is useless at this range – it's not like we've got thermal clips to waste,” Liara shouts over to me in the middle, as she crouches down to recharge her warp.

“Li–“

“Shepard – perhaps you can tell her to fuck _all the way off_ , and then I'll see if I can hit her from here,” Aria shouts.

“This bickering is of no use,” Javik growls, ducking over cover to fire a few shots towards the Harvesters.

“Wildly firing a shotgun is of no use,” Liara throws back.

“Everyone shut up!” I yell, while pulling an on-coming husk over cover and smashing it in the face with my rifle. “We do this as a team or not at all. We flank to advance, watch--”

“Fuck this,” Aria growls, cutting me off mid-order.

What Aria does next is beyond compare.

She spins out and rushes from cover: shooting, butting, flattening any husks in her path, until she has one last husk in her path to front cover.

She leaps forward, one boot sole on its chest, the other on its shoulder. She mounts it like a stepping stone. She directs a shotgun blast down to the top of it skull – before she leaps off and on to the top of a remnants of wall.

Now giving the Harvesters a clear shot at her, she moves quickly. They fire up their rapid blast cannons for a bombardment. But Aria's already soaring from the top of the wall, into a forward roll, and springing back to her feet just in front of the beasts.

Without breaking momentum, she runs full throttle at the pair of Harvesters, scaling one with parkour technique to pounce upon the other's back.

Now atop the Harvester she sinks to her knees. She holds aloft a biotically charged fist, shaking with power. The Harvester screeches and takes to the air – Just as she smashes her fist down and pierces the scaled exterior.

I can't even see her elbow, that's how deep.

The Harvester shrieks in pain and flaps above the ground, trying to shake her off. But she clearly has a hold of something deep inside.

Aria's entire body sizzles with biotic energy and she concentrates all of her force into one blow.

The creature's head explodes in spectacular fashion with the pale blue light of an almighty Flare.

As its carcass drops from the sky, Aria falls with style and lands on the neck of the remaining Harvester. She looks like she's going to slide right off, but her ankles lock and she hangs on the underside of the reaper beast's neck with her strong legs.

The Harvester flaps erratically, trying to shake her or twist itself to target her but she's going nowhere. The Harvester's guns fire off sporadically as it sways from side to side.

Now hanging with her arms dangling free, Aria pulls out her shotgun. She's got clear sight of an elusive soft spot – And aims at point blank range.

Four consecutive shots and she's blown right through the neck. The severed head falls first – then Aria, as she pushes off from the body to land in a rolling tumble on the ground where the two impassable beasts once stood.

She's back to her feet quicker than you would think after such a feat – and strides towards us with all of the arrogance and glory in the galaxy.

For such a misanthrope, she plays the Big Damn Hero incredibly well.

“I'll concede. That was good, Shepard,” Liara admits reluctantly. “She's good.”

“Of course I'm good,” Aria says, the blood of the battle coursing through her. “How you think I got to where I am? We can’t all rely on flashing our tits like your dear mother. But that landed her on an evil dreadnought, so not the best idea to follow in those footsteps.”

I clamp a hand around Liara's right wrist as she starts to raise it. I can feel the biotic energy surging through her, just beneath the skin. I know what she's thinking. I wouldn't blame her.

“Aria!” I bark. “Enough.”

“Should I apologise to the wife?” Aria says, loaded with enough saccharine to rot.

“I doubt you'll mean it,” Liara replies, barely containing herself. “You'd have to have a conscience.”

“Liara,” I say, warning her with a tug of the wrist. “Stop it.”

“Listen to the Commander,” Aria taunts. “Follow orders like a good little girl. Personally, I only follow orders from her in bed, and only if they're filthy. Which they often are.”

“You are just a vile, horrible person!” Liara yells, shaking as she struggles to contain her rage.

“I'll tell you who was filthy,” Aria says, revelling in Liara's anger. “Your father. Nasty little things she did to me – And I loved it. Always knew Benezia liked a bit of rough – but running off to destroy the galaxy with Saren? She must have been desperate for a good _fuck_.”

Too much – Liara snaps. Glowing a determinedly violent shade of blue, she twists her hand free from my hold – causing me to stagger backwards – and throws a biotic field before I can react.

Liara seizes Aria in a stasis field – and holds.

Aria laughs, looking down at her immobilised body hovering just above the ground.

And I'm cursing that Liara only saw fit to freeze Aria from the neck down, like she wants to hear more of Aria's hurtful slurs.

Aria’s laugh is interrupted by a sharp, unholy, teeth shattering screech that erupts from within her. The noise cuts to the core of me. Stasis isn’t supposed to…

It’s like stepping into an ice cold bath, travelling from the toes up through my spine to the back of my neck, when I actually compute what is going on in front of me.

This is torture. Liara wants to hear her scream.

“That all you got Pureblood?” Aria mutters through clenched jaw. She tries to force a cackle from her lips but it dies on the open air. “Barely tingles.”

With a snarl and sweat starting to trickle down her forehead from the sheer force of will, Liara throws a warp on top of the stasis. I've never seen her face so contorted in such fury and darkness.

“Liara - stop,” I shout, holding my hand out like it makes a damn bit of difference.

I can see Liara kick it up a few notches from the concentration on her face coupled with an involuntarily yelp of pain from Aria. The colour is starting to drain from my malicious paramour and I can tell her breathing is getting tighter.

“Really, c'mon now,” Aria says through gritted teeth, her breathing laboured. “That's nothing. Feels good actually. Pleasure and pain, right, Shepard? You should tell her about the time we fucked so hard we blew out your implant.”

Liara manages to look furious and desperately crushed at the same time, her eyes filling with tears.

But she will not yield.

“Aria – shut up. Liara – stop!” I command impotently, shaking the younger Asari. But Liara has turned to stone.

Her purpose is singular. She will not be swayed. I don't think that when she started, she had intent to kill – but now, I think that's all Liara wants.

I have no choice. I don't want to, but it's my fault that it's gone this far. It's my fault this is happening at all. It's my fault Liara has murder in her eyes, and Aria's biting her lip hard enough that blood drips down her chin.

I focus my biotics for maximum impact but minimal duration – and lasso a Pull field at Liara.

The stasis breaks. It sweeps Liara off her feet, and sends her crashing her into the wall.

I hear the softest of groans from Aria as she lies face down on the broken concrete.

Liara picks herself up, holding steady against the wall. The tightness inside slackens slightly when I see she's largely unharmed by my biotics. The knot returns when she holds her head up to throw me a look of utter disgust.

I turn to Aria, on hands and knees, breath heaving. I start to go to her, but her body tenses as she regains her senses.

Aria looks up: locking onto Liara like a precision laser. She's about to soar towards Liara when I pounce on her, using all the strength in my body to restrain her, our faces in touching distance.

“Aria.”

“Shepard, don't stop me,” Aria hisses in my ear, pushing against me. Her body convulses with remnants of pain. “I will go through you if I have to.”

“I have to,” I tell her in calm voice, hoping it will be contagious. “You have to stop. We can't do this right now. Look around. This is your world. The Reapers are swallowing it whole. This can't matter.”

She stops struggling against me, and soon I feel her muscles relax.

“Save it for the Reapers,” I tell her, gripping her hand before letting her go completely. “Please, Aria.”

Aria turns sharply away so that none of us can see her face. I imagine she's screaming inside.

“As amusing as primitives are,” Javik says, breaking his silence to remind us all he bore witness to this débâcle. “We can't stay here much longer.”

“Not sure it's fair to call us all primitives. Some of us, certainly,” Liara says in a low voice.

But Aria catches it, setting her off again. She doesn't fly towards Liara like she's going to attack, but angles her whole body in a threatening pose, jabbing her finger straight to Liara.

“Don't think you got away with this – I'll fucking murder you, Pureblood,” Aria threatens. “I'll cut your throat in your sleep, I'll eviscerate you, I'll pull you apart with my bare fucking hands!”

“Try a new insult,” Liara yells over. “I liked 'wife' better.”

“Wonderful. More distractions from the Reapers,” Javik says grimly, clearly not enjoying this whole abhorrent display.

There's no way we can go on like this.

“Steve, I need a pick-up at my location,” I radio over the comm.

Both Asari look at me after I give the order.

“Copy, Commander,” Steve radios. “Two minutes out. But it'll need to be quick.”

This will be the longest 120 seconds of my life.

They're still looking at me. Aria gives me a smug, knowing smile, while Liara recedes into shame.

They’re some distance from me on either side, but in my peripheral vision I see Aria standing, hands on hips, cocky as ever.  Liara on the other hand has sunken to her haunches, fists balled against her forehead.

Aria comes to my side eventually. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“Are you OK?” My words are so quiet I can’t even be sure that she heard them, much less the rest of my merry squad.

“Will be,” Aria replies. Her voice has lost the strain and she’s breathing much easier. She’s stemmed the blood from her lip, but I have noted the blood on her palms, most likely from indents of her fingernails in a closed fist.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. My instinct is to touch her for her comfort and mine but I restrain myself because I know it will make this more difficult.

Liara is still crouched and rocking on her feet, with arms around her legs. I imagine the reality of what she has done is plain to her now. The truth is, I don’t know her. I don’t know how the past months have changed her. War can do that.

That she is suffering silently with her guilt gives me the slightest hope.

The Kodiak swoops into view, gliding as gracefully as it can to our position. Steve keeps the shuttle hovering, ready to make a sharp exit. The door opens.

“Aria – Go,” I order, looking hard at her.

“Me?!” Aria yells, turning on me furiously. “She attacks me with her shitty biotics and _I_ get sent back?”

“Other way around and you would have ripped her apart for the things you said,” I tell Aria, summoning all my resolve. “I need her at the temple. There’s no point in any of this if we can’t find what we’re looking for.”

“So, you take her side?” Aria says, the anger un-quelled. “What else can she get away with?”

“I’m not on her side, but she won't do it again,” I tell Aria. “But as soon as you get your chance, you're exacting every ounce of vengeance. I can't stop you and the Reapers.”

“Yeah. Wouldn't want anything to happen to the Pureblood,” Aria growls. She looks like she wants to tear my throat out before she turns and boards the shuttle, banging with her fist to close the door.

I watch the shuttle fly off with a familiar acid corroding my stomach and my nerve. This could be the wrong choice.

“Shepard,” Liara says quietly. “I can’t tell you sorr—”

“Just focus on the real enemy,” I tell her firmly, unable to look at her and unwilling to let myself hear her apology. “Move out.”

–

The bastard beat us. Beat me. Attack helicopter or no, I was beaten and pushed into a crack in the earth. The fucking cretin always shows up when he's the very last thing I need. I suppose an enemy isn't there for my convenience, but it seems like cruelty.

I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't fast enough. And now it's gone.

Thessia's fucked. The galaxy's fucked. I am fucked.

If the ground wasn't crumbling beneath my feet, I'd fall to my knees.

If Aria had been here, would she have pulled me out of the hole? Would she have eviscerated Kai Leng with joyful ease? Would the lives lost on our ascent be worth it if we had completed our mission?

The only thing I can do, the only thing I can control is getting us out of this cursed place.

I can feel Liara approaching my back. I can't even imagine how she's holding it together. Thessia destroyed. The illusion of her species supremacy destroyed. Her own soul tarnished. Her image of me is likely in similar standing.

“Shepard--”

“You can arrange pick-up with your people once we're in Orbit,” I tell her with no room for argument. “We're going back to the Normandy.”

“Shepard, it's fine, I can--”

“Liara – I am not leaving you to die on your world,” I tell her, pointing towards the Reaper Destroyer's now too numerous to count. “Thessia's done. You're not staying because you're still mad at me, or I'm still angry with you. It's done. It's all done.”

It's the very least I can do.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have been waiting for someone to read that for quite a while (as in, had the Thessia smackdown in a primitive form from the start of the fic). It's my own damn fault it's taking so long with hiatus's and such.
> 
> As always, would love you hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading and a good 2017 to all.


	33. Fallout

**33 –  Fallout**

 

I stare at the space where the holo of Tevos stood. My meaningless apology dissipates with her.

This is too big.

Take down one Reaper. A thousand-thousand advance. Kill another. And another.

Barely a dent while they consume Earth, Palaven, Thessia...

We stepped out into the galaxy thinking that mapping it was mastering it. It doesn't seem so big when you know where everything is.

We're still so tiny screaming into the face of gods.

I'll give myself one minute. Five. Ten. Absolutely just ten minutes to feel helpless and weak and defeated.

Ten minutes then I have to face them out there.

This is on Hackett. He threw me out there. One person to bring together leaders of worlds and solve their ancient problems before they'll help us all. One team to do the impossible. One ship to save us all.

It's not miracles I perform – though that's certainly what it looks like from far away. Truth is it's grinding and desperate strategy plays while resisting the urge to punch people until I get them to do what they should be doing. 

Thessia was in need of more than a miracle. It needed someone better than me. Someone who wouldn't be bested by a basic mech with human skin armed with a sword for no discernible reason other than it looks cool.

I can't even find the will to lie and say that I'll get him next time. If I did, it wouldn't be convincing.

I have to go out there and lie to everyone else. I don't have that in me either.

I haul my aching body up and out of the comms terminal to see they're all around the war room, waiting for me.

Aria is notable by her absence. I didn't give her a tour of the war room but I'm sure she knows where it is. I think I may have actually neglected to give her clearance.

I can't do speeches. I can't do anything. One person can't realistically do anything that's going to change _anything_ in the face of our metal extinction.

Everyone takes silence as dismissal and dutifully filters out. They all look thoroughly disappointed in me. They came for reassurance and there is none to give.

I stay a while at the war terminal to make sure I won't be caught in conversation in transit. I consider using the maintenance shafts to see if I can find the stealthy route upstairs. I think better of it – as I would likely fail to get anywhere near it and land in the cargo bay instead.

The CIC is disturbingly quiet. Not just because I have entered the room, but devoid of the usual hum of activity as a general state of being. That's what makes Traynor's voice even more jarring.

“Commander, I couldn't help but notice Liara--”

“Yes, Liara's back,” I tell Traynor in a weary voice. “For a time. She should be arranging pick-up, if you could help her with that.”

“Wasn't going to ask that, Commander,” Traynor says, looking fearful that I might shoot the messenger. “Well, sort of. I saw her go into the elevator and was wondering where she might be going?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to repress my irritability.

“Well, she's not come to us for the nav systems to contact her team for retrieval. And she doesn't have a cabin onboard any longer, though she still has some equipment left over...”

It hits me. That's Traynor, three chess moves ahead. She looks relieved that I've finally figured it out.

I dash into the elevator and hammer the panel for the crew deck.

And I can hear them before the elevator doors even open.

_“-- Cause looks like you're trespassing to me!”_

_“Aria I'm really not in the mood--”_

_“Oh, you think because you're tired I'll put a pin in the shit you dared to pull down there? Sorry kid, you don't get a time-out when you're fucking with grown-ups.”_

I waste no time once I've burst through the doors of the old XO cabin. “Aria – Stop. This is pathetic. When someone doesn't punch back, it's bullying.”

My appearance has done nothing to change Aria's aggressive, prowling stance, with Liara backing herself against a wall like prey.

“See this is her problem – being coddled. She thought that after abandoning you and the mission that she could come back and her room would be exactly as she left it, just representing a big gaping hole,” Aria lectured. “I tried to explain to her that your gaping hole got filled ju—“

“Aria that's enough,” I snap, the harsh tone of my words sorely grazing my throat. After the day I've had, I really should be using my indoor voice, or at least chewing lozenges by the pack.

“Shepard, I just came back in here to see if I could find a computer and perhaps sleep for a bit,” Liara mumbles, her eyelids heavy and her gaze dipped down to ankle level. I would guess that she's staring at my shoes, but I don't think she's focusing well enough to even see. I know how she feels. “I didn't mean to cause--”

“You don't wanna sleep here,” Aria advises, reclining and stretching back out over the bed. “Unless you're surprisingly nasty underneath that prim exterior; just dying for a taste of day old azure musk. Mostly hers, if that helps.”

Liara barely recoils. I think that she's doing all she can to stand up straight and that doesn't leave a lot of room for traditional displays of disgust.

“Liara – why don't you take my cabin?” I suggest abruptly. “I'll find somewhere for now.”

“Didn't know the Alliance gave perks to deserters,” Aria snarks.

“Shepard, I couldn't – I just need to check on my operations and I need my tech to...” Liara trails off; her fury and fight have been left on the planet's scorched surface.

Aria takes pity. Or sees an opportunity to twist the knife.

She slips off the bed and starts a march in one smooth motion. Aria stops to the side of Liara to hiss directly into her ear: “Fine. Someone has to bunk with the Commander.”

With that, she leaves, barely looking at me as she passes. She doesn't like me right now, she's only spiting herself to get to Liara. Doesn't matter.

The door shuts with only Liara and me inside.

A vacuum of silence. I almost consider saying something. My mouth is too slow and her knees too swift to collapse.

Liara crumples to the floor, unleashing the kind of sob that breaks hearts and echoes within these walls.

I wish I could say that I stood professionally. Held the line. Remembered the complexities in our relationship that should keep me upright. That I didn't buckle with her. That I allowed her privacy.

That I didn't immediately go to her, pull her body into mine, hold her tightly and rock with her as she wept.

But I did.

I couldn't help it.

It’s _Liara._

–

I know we've been on this floor long enough for people to come looking for me; for someone to need me for something. I don't care for command, or time passed, or the impending doom.

I care that Liara has soothed some; her chest pushes against mine that little bit gentler, her breathing a little bit more stable in rhythm. Her skin doesn't feel so scalding and the patch on my shoulder is starting to dry.

She has wailed. She has poured forth every horror suffered at the sight of Thessia in ruins. She has decanted her soul into my trusted self. It’s almost like how it was. We have forgotten the people we are now.

Not one word about Aria, or me, or her. That's not what this is about.

It's her world, her people, her mother.

“If we hadn't-- if we hadn't hidden the most fundamental cornerstone of our advanced civilisation, then the galaxy would have known about the Reapers so much sooner. Centuries, millennia to prepare,” Liara murmurs. “The Protheans made it all a lie, and with it, the Asari have ruined us all.”

“Humanity would have done exactly the same,” I offer as consolation. “We're a tribal people. Don't trust easily. Most races probably would have if such a choice was left to those at the top.”

“Something she's not wrong about.”

“Who?”

“Aria.” I know she feels my body tense but it's a reflex I cannot help. “ _The matriarchs have been sneaky fucks for millennia_. She was not wrong.”

Liara puts more emotional effort into the quotation that she needed to, with extra vitriol at the cursing.

“My mother was part of that,” Liara says slowly. I wish I could see her face right now because her tone is so difficult to judge. It’s hollow and pondering. “I loved my mother. I loved the woman she was, as I remember her before Saren. When I was young. Goddess knows she was not perfect.”

“She sacrificed her legacy because she saw the danger before anyone else. She did what had to be done,” I contribute.

“She knew because she had the knowledge of the temple! They all did. They're the reason my people are dying by the millions!” Liara exclaims with a tremble in her voice, pushing away from me and staring desperately at me. “I told those people on Thessia we'd save them – How many are dying because of what I told them to do?”

“None.” My answer is sure and steadfast but inspires no confidence in her. Instead, Liara spirals.

“Crushed, shot, blown up, torn from limb, eviscerated, pulped and used for frontline cannon fodder or bastardised screeching nightmares!” Liara lists manically, getting to her feet and pounding the small space. She slams the side of a natural clenched fist into an innocent storage container. “All of this because of the arrogance of our mothers!”

I stare up at her, hands flat on my thighs, like generations of Asari looking to the monolith of the Goddess Athame.

“You've been warning your people for four years about this Liara, there's not a damn thing you should feel guilty about,” I say resolutely. “You're not responsible for the sins of your mother. You dedicated your life to studying the gaps, the mystery of the Protheans. I pulled you out of a Prothean ruin alone, and it didn't seem like there were a lot of your contemporaries engaged in the pursuit. It wasn't the most respected area of study, right? Developing the wacky theories of how a great civilisation supposedly vanished. They were happy to let the outliers investigate because they thought you weren't a threat. Your ancestors, the matriarchs could have read the warning signs long before. We can't change the past long written. We can do something about the now.”

I get to my feet. Simply rising has an odd, healing quality. I'm getting up. I will not allow Liara to fall down again.

“We lost Thessia. But we haven't lost the Asari yet,” I tell her firmly, hands on her shoulders to still her. “ _We haven't lost yet_. We can't.”

I see the will to fight and the belief that it is not in vain in her eyes. It restores my own for the briefest of moments. Then her brow creases; her eyes change. They fill with shame and anguish.

“Shepard, Aria – what I did, down there—“

I turn from her. I used the last of my heart to rise and I can’t deal with this minefield right now.

“I don’t think either of us can handle talking about this today, Liara. Not after everything.”

“I know. But I need…”

“Is this who you are now?” I ask wearily.

“No!” she answers desperately, shaking her head vehemently. “I don’t know where it…”

“Then that’s as much as I can take today,” I sigh, rubbing my eyes. I might be able to put a pin in this conversation, but I know another that I do not have the energy for awaits me two decks above and that one cannot be so easily quelled.

\--

I have no idea what I’m expecting in my cabin: Smackdown; Rage sex; Cold shoulder – or a combination of the above.

I hold my breath as the doors quietly hiss open. She’s not in my direct line of sight. All three options are still on the table.

“Aria?”

No response as I edge further into my room, closer to my desk.

I see the top of her crest through my model ship display. She is, of course, sitting on the sofa. The orange of a datapad illuminates her face in this dull room. She’s lazily swiping the datapad, with the faintest hint that this is all an act.

“Aria,” I call in a manner expecting reciprocation, rounding the ship display with caution to come to the side of her.

“Shepard,” she says smoothly, lifting her eyes oh so briefly to meet mine, before returning attention to matters real or otherwise on the datapad.

I sit on the coffee table directly in front of her. I won’t crawl. I won’t flog myself. I won’t pander to this sullen woman far old enough to know better. But I will explain, as I think embracing your ex for an hour or so below deck after taking her side twice merits it.

“How is Liara?”

She surprises me by speaking first. And more so due to the question.

“Not great.”

“ _Terrific_ ,” Aria muses.

“We talked for a while. I didn’t want to leave her alone. As a friend,” I tell her, hoping that honesty will do some measure of good.

“She knows exactly how to work you.”

“Time was, she said the same thing about you,” I recall.

“Shepard, that means you’re exceedingly workable,” Aria drawls, now putting down the datapad and giving me a stare that could bore through iridium.

“You were an utter cunt today, Aria,” I sigh.

“Aren’t I most days?”

“You were unprofessional, out of control, un-cooperative and vicious.”

“Fuck off,” Aria says in a low tone, her eyebrows narrow and jaw set like stone. “Fuck off as much as you can, and as far as you can in this tiny fucking tin ship for your own fucking sake before I –“

“Rip me apart, paste me into the ground, pull my ribcage out, shove a flare up my ass, blah blah,” I rhyme off as I push off the coffee table and start to walk away. “Whatever. I’m not an Omega goon cowering at your feet. Today I was your Commander. And sometimes you make me think I’m your girlfriend. And I deserve more than your threats.”

She says nothing. Her right eyebrow flickers at _girlfriend_ , but her mouth remains sealed. She’s given me that much at least.

“I got my fucking ass handed to me by a cyborg much better equipped than I,” I continue, voice rising at the memory of the bitter defeat, of losing so hard with stakes so high it makes me shake inside. “And I needed you to tear him apart – I needed you to make the difference. But you got sent off in the final quarter because you incited and insisted on a pointless vendetta against an ex.”  

“Of which, you took her side.”

“Because you were wrong! You insulted her parents, threw slurs in her face, taunted her with our relationship. I think you were pushing for exactly the result you got.”

“Yes, it is my fault I got _tortured_ ,” Aria sneers. “Inappropriate clothing. Led her on.”

“That was… far beyond acceptable,” I say carefully. “It was horrific.”

“It was,” she nods, taking this small victory.

“But you were pushing her to a reaction. You were. Admit that,” I dare.

Aria takes a moment to consider, setting her tongue behind her teeth, with arms folded.

“I didn’t know that the deified Liara was a twisted psycho! I expected a punch in the mouth, yes – or a swing at it. She didn’t have the quad to come that close.”

“You wanted a fight.”

“Fair one would have been nice,” Aria snaps. “Clever of her, as any bare fist fight would hardly be fair against _that_.”

“What is this actually about?” I ask, my tone inflected with more fury than I would like to de-escalate this situation. “Do you just hate her for no apparent reason? Is it spite? Jealousy?”

“That arrogant child holds all the secrets of the galaxy, has more dealings in blackmail and backhand arrangements than I ever will. That she can take lives for the greater good and then proselytise on morality is fucking sickening and she needed to be reminded of what a small hypocrite she is.”

Aria prowls the width of my cabin multiple times while spewing her justification for attacking Liara.

“So, bullshit spite and jealousy then,” I scoff.

“Don’t be so reductive Shepard – nor so blind, and listen to what I’m telling you,” she demands. “You may think that your time with me is you taking a walk on the wild side with the bad girl, but the power she wields is actually dangerous on a cosmic level.”

“I’m not walking on a wild side,” I say slowly, trying to riddle this out just by looking at the few lines on her face.

“From your behaviour, it’s clear that’s all this is,” she says dismissively, looking to the ground.

“Aria – I sincerely would not have endured the hell reigned down upon my head for some frivolous sex. If that’s all this was, it would have ended long ago.” My tone is softer than I expect, stained with inflections of hurt that she would believe so little of me, after all of this.

It comes out of my mouth without even thinking. Must make it true.

She believes it true. I know it’s true.

“And if that’s all this means to you, just the kick of sexually defiling a council SPECTRE or whatever, then I doubt you would have stuck around this long either. Or laid into Liara like that.”

Her silence corroborates my words. That she dares to meet my stare confirms more than words could.

“I don’t really want to do the kiss and make-up thing here,” Aria mutters, her hands behind her head. “I’m not that—“

“I know,” I nod, sitting down on the bed, the exhaustion of the day claiming the bones in my body.

Aria is clearly having some internal disagreement with herself as she hangs her head back and finishes with a grunt. She grabs the wine from the coffee table, overfilling each of the two unwashed glasses sitting there from last night.

She stands in front of me, the fight within her dissipating, holding out a glass.

I accept, and in turn, she accepts an unspoken invitation to sit with me.

“There is only one thing I will apologise for. Most likely ever. And that is not being with you against that Cerberus fuck Kai Leng. For that, I am sorry,” Aria says in a low tone, swirling the wine before taking a gulp.

“I will… take it.”

Aria is capable of surprising me in so many ways. Not just the combat parkour with the stunning finish, or the intense sex affair that stealthily becomes something so much more – but the little ways.

Like the hand on the small of my back right now, gently massaging one of the many sore parts of my broken body. You have to get very close to see the tender parts of Aria T’Loak.

“You’ve had many different lives…” I utter aloud. I am so drained that I think the veil between thought and spoken word is fading.

“I might have had different names, but it’s always been the same life. I own it all. I haven’t changed who I am in centuries,” she replies defiantly, staring into the distance. I can’t help but feel that she knows that’s a little bit of a lie.

“Before today I would have said different,” I sigh, placing my wine glass on the floor. The light acidity is not soothing my throat. “But as you remind me so often, I know so little about you.”

“Did you want me to change, Shepard?” she asks in a mocking tone. “Did you want to be the one to change me?”

“That’s not what I meant. That was never the…”

I give up half way through. I’m too exhausted to explore this topic or breach the depths of the history of Aria T’Loak tonight. I have given everything physically, intellectually and emotionally in the past day. I flop backwards on the bed, deeming it too much effort to hold my own head up.

The only explanation is that she takes pity on me, as she sits by me on the bed and rests a warm hand on my stomach. I place both of my hands over hers to keep it in place. It is unexpectedly comforting.

“Do you think you’ll ever tell me your first?” I ask croakily. “Name, that is.”

“If you’re dying to know, you could always ask the Shadow Broker,” she says wearily, draining the rest of her wine and lying back with me.

“I would rather hear it from you,” I sigh, feeling her warmth closer to me, all along the side of my body.

“We’ll see,” she taunts humourlessly, pulling me into her. More of a drag, as my body is just a dead weight with little inclination to move. She scoops my head up and slides an arm underneath my neck and rolls me into her.

I still make no effort. Moving is the last thing I need. She pulls me tightly into her chest, both arms wrapped around me tightly. A kiss to my forehead to seal the deal.

Then she murmurs something into the top of my head. Almost pained.

Something real. Extraordinary.

I never knew it was coming. It was the thing she’s never said before. The thing I’m not even sure how to articulate – that’s how bizarre, yet wonderful. I’m sure it was.

“ _Aria_ ,” I breathe heavily against her chest, the words spoken having given me some life. She tightens her grip on me as I try to wriggle, albeit lethargically, from her hold. She knows that when I see her face, it’ll be written all over it.

I free myself – mostly as she didn’t really want me not to.

A range of expressions that I have never seen painted on her features.

She looks scared, embarrassed, tense, a little pissed but mostly hopeful.

It was what I thought it was.

She may have let it slip in a moment of weakness, but the reciprocal words I give to her are a deliberate act. In truth, these are the words I’ve had to stop myself from even _thinking_ for months. Perhaps it’s madness, I can scarcely believe it myself, but it becomes more undeniable every day.

_“I love you, too.”_

 


	34. Interlude - Weak

**Interlude - Weak**

_Pureblood._

_Liara told Shepard that no Asari would ever be cruel enough to say it to her face. That omitted children. Wasn't fair to include them, she had reasoned. We were all just pushing the boundaries of what was allowed._

_It was actually her friend that called her that. They were having an inane argument after lessons during a rare fallout. It didn't sound bad, but the vitriol that carried the word to Liara's ears made her feel the impact of it._

_As she walked home, she debated whether to ask the only person she could as to its meaning. If it was a bad word, she wondered if her mother might punish her for using it._

_However, she couldn't recall a time when Benezia had berated her for seeking knowledge. It was their way of life; it was how she was raised._

_Liara found her mother in the garden, reading from her many diplomatic data-pads, coloured white so Liara knew not to touch them, not even if she was insatiably curious. She knew she would find her out here – her mother could never pass a beautiful day indoors._

_She shuffled her feet, hoping Benezia might notice her presence – before she let the question blurt out from her impatient mouth._

_“Mother. I heard something today and I don't know what it is. Can I ask you about it?”_

_“Of course, Little Wing,” Benezia said softly, beckoning her daughter to her._

_Liara sat at her mothers side, worrying the frayed end of her uniform dress with her fingers. Her mother batted her anxious hands from their destructive motions, and smiled down at her._

_“What's troubling you so?” Benezia asked._

_“Pureblood. I don't know what it means,” Liara said finally._

_The darkness that swept Benezia's features was more apparent in the sunlight. She put down her datapad, her jaw clenched._

_“It's not a word used in our society,” Benezia said, her words clipped as she gave little away. “Where did you hear it?”_

_Liara didn't want to get her friend in trouble, even in their current spat._

_“Just heard it around,” Liara lied badly. She knew her mother would be able to tell straight away; but Benezia did not chide her for it._

_“Was it said in reference to you?” Benezia asked tersely._

_Liara nodded._

_“You must understand, Liara,” Benezia said, attempting to soften herself to comfort her daughter. “The intent of the word is bad – but the meaning is not.”_

_This confused Liara more. “But what is the meaning?”_

_“It is someone born of two Asari parents,” Benezia said finally, bracing herself for Liara's inevitable question._

_“Is that me?” Liara asked. “Am I pureblood?”_

_“That word is to shame unions which narrow-minded opinion finds 'useless',” Benezia said. “It's not a word that applies to you. Or to anyone. It's a word of bigotry and charged with political agenda.”_

_“My father's Asari?” Liara asked carefully._

_There had been three times when she tried to ask her mother about her other parent. Three times and all shut down with the same phrase - “Your father is of no concern.”_

_All three occasions happened when she was even younger than she was now, so it was swathed with coddled affection – but the same underlying non-negotiable finality remained constant. Liara stopped asking when she was old enough to realise that her mother would never fold._

_To ask made Benezia sad, and angry, and shamed – all of the things you don't wish to inflict upon your comforter and your protector._

_But now that Liara knew it was another Asari, she wondered if that was the source of those feelings. And if the Pureblood secret is out – would her mother finally tell her who her father was?_

_“Yes,” Benezia admitted, finally._

_“Who is she?” Liara asked quietly, lip trembling. The silence from Benezia lasted too long, and as soon as tears started to flow, more questions spilled forth. “Where is she? Does she know about me? Did she leave because I was pureblood? Is she ashamed of me? Did she wa--”_

_“LIARA – enough!” Benezia ordered, her firm hands grasping Liara's slender shoulders. After a moment to calm herself, she looked at her shaken child with kindness and repeated those immortal words: “Your father is of no concern.”_

_Liara felt brave enough and fraught enough to demand one more answer to one more question. She just needed something – anything – to convince her that there might be a real person out there who brought her to be._

_“Did you love my father?”_

_“Listen to me,” her mother commanded, holding Liara's chin. “Love is not romantic, it doesn't solve every problem, it isn't the happy ending: it subdues you and twists you to its mercy. It is a force that captures your self and holds it hostage. It brings hurt and anguish for a drop of mirth in return. You don't need the thrall of another – it will only stop you.”_

_She stared at Benezia, the evidence of the words showing in her mothers melancholic eyes._

_“Love makes you weak, Liara.”_

Liara had thought of these words many times during cold nights and long days. Words too complex for her to comprehend at that age. Even ninety years later, she still couldn't fathom the depths of her undeniably great mother.

She had always felt a romantic at heart; a dreamer digging for something wonderful. She could tell that Benezia had always despaired of this aspect of her daughters personality; and was pained to ensure that Liara did not allow frivolous emotions tied up in an undependable other to thwart her daughters potential.

Liara sought to uphold the values that her mother instilled in her. As a respected leader and revered diplomat, Benezia always claimed the secret was knowledge. Without it, everything falls to ruin. When you know more, there's no situation you can't navigate to success.

There was no more natural path to Liara than that of academic research and study. The thirst could not be sated when there was so much to know and so much more to be discovered. The pursuit of Archaeology was not exactly what her mother had meant, but it was to be approved of as a noble field.

Benezia's warning about entanglement with another rang in her ears for many years. Where there were opportunities that her classmates at University were exploring, Liara chose to devote herself to study. Anything else would be a distraction and she would prove her mother right if she failed because she allowed another to cloud her focus.

As she moved to field research and dig site projects, the opportunities became fewer until it was hardly uncommon for Liara to spend months at a time in solitude.

Focus and dedication had brought Liara to the precipice of what she believed was a stunning archaeological theory. The papers she wrote were widely discredited as the unfounded fantasies of a child, which just made her more determined to prove herself.

She never found cohesive evidence until a Commander, a beacon, a rogue Spectre and unfortunately her own mother would vindicate her work.

Therum was one of her solitary digs. Once the site had been excavated by labour, she was very much alone with her thoughts and her ruins – until a squadron of Geth led by a Krogan Battlemaster arrived.

Locked in a stasis bubble to protect herself from the aggressors, Liara now only had her thoughts. She was scared that this may be her end. So young and with so much to accomplish left unfinished. She pushed away thoughts of her mother, still angered by their estrangement of many years.

The ethos her mother instilled in her now seemed pointless. She allowed herself to wonder if this would have happened had she not been so stubbornly alone for all these years. If she had been with someone, they would worry for her and notice her absence. Perhaps then she might be saved from this bubble.

Liara hadn't been completely immune to romantic feelings over the years. It wouldn't have been so difficult to ignore them and stay focused on her ambitions if she was. There had been overtures from colleagues and classmates, but no one extraordinary had ever crossed her path that would dissuade her from her resolve.

Until a human woman with bright red hair toting a shotgun, and flanked by two aliens appeared before her.

She wasn't sure they were real at first. The visage of the Commander could surely only have come from a yearning imagination. That she was armed and accompanied by a fire team seemed too fortuitous in Liara's current predicament.

Of course it wasn't a coincidence. The Commander was looking for her.

Liara didn't feel her mother at her shoulder and the words didn't resound as wisely as they once had when she met the Commander. Perhaps she'd been in isolation for too long; unexposed to the wider world and its wonder.

But that wasn't really true. She knew from the first glance that Shepard was exceptional. Not as a valiant saviour to a naïve damsel. Not as a Commander, or as a human with all the immediacy and drive of her species as typified by Asari culture, or even her illustrious position as the first human Spectre.

It was the mind. The glimpse she had into the Commander's intense consciousness as they joined to decipher the Prothean beacon. The rapid tactical calculations she made under pressure. The enviable ability to weigh moral decisions astutely and the steadfast resolve to carry them through. The empathy for those under her protection and on her side.

She had an inkling of what lay beneath before that. It was always in the eyes: the strength, the intelligence, the determination and a spark of something greater than the sum of those parts.

Looking back on that first voyage: those initial heady and frantic months aboard the Normandy, Liara felt somewhat pathetic. She was ill-equipped and unaccustomed to life aboard a stealth military ship. When Liara recalled feeling weak and the many dizzy spells, she couldn't help but cringe. There she was, aboard a vessel surrounded by capable and hardy warriors – and she didn't recall Tali (another crew member with little combat experience) behaving so feebly.

Shepard once told her it was an endearing reminder of how abnormal their lifestyle was, and how vulnerable we all are in the beginning. Soon, she told Liara, she'd be strapping on armour like a second skin and become the most proficient combat Archaeologist since an old, fictional Earth vid hero. The comparison amused the Commander, but Liara had no frame of reference for a Dr. Jones.

As she fell for the Commander, Benezia's mantra became more foreign to her. If anything, she felt stronger, more bold, more comfortable in growing into her own skin. Decades she had spent in a cocoon of her own study. Within weeks of joining the Normandy, she was in the field as part of Shepard's combat team: firing a weapon somewhat effectively, and deploying her biotics to much greater success.

At first she felt that Shepard took her out in an effort to toughen her up and ready her for her purpose on the ship: confronting her mother. As they became close, Liara was paranoid that it was a romantic interest that made Shepard favour her, which she didn't imagine would sit well with more serviced team members.

However, Liara began to feel like she had earned her place amongst soldiers, warriors and agents as she and Shepard became more in tune, combining their biotic abilities to devastating effect – throwing entire rooms of enemies into disarray to make easy pickings for their more weapon friendly comrade.

She could anticipate what the Commander needed of her before the order left the human's lips. Liara fought, not only for the mission objective, but for Shepard's favour and Shepard's trust. Her performance in battle was elevated every time she saw the Commander fighting valiantly for their survival – in turn, she fought for Shepard's safety, even over her own.

Being intimate with Shepard, joining and indulging in the pleasures of the flesh for the first time in her short life changed Liara from the core. Her expression of love and desire for Shepard brought out the Asari she never knew she had within her.

She had always looked to the more glamorous members of her species with disaffection, a little envy and the slightest disdain.

Liara knew she would never be like them. It didn't feel like a costume she could wear. She couldn't imagine feeling comfortable projecting her most sensual self out there. The import Liara placed on intelligence, discovery and knowledge didn't seem compatible with using her undiscovered sexuality to further those goals.

For her own personal curiosity, rather than relevance to her own path of academics, she took a number of years in _Deconstruction of the Asari Archetype in Diplomacy and Galactic Relations_ at the University of Serrice, alongside her studies in Archaeology.

A somewhat controversial course led by a well written Professor: it spanned the breadth of their history and the exterior view of the Asari by other species. Liara thought it might give her better insight into the wider galaxy waiting out there, her mother's position and perhaps might even make sense of her mothers warning.

Liara had tried to integrate in discussions with her classmates, between ardent anti-traditionalists who believed that the sexualisation of their species in galactic eyes made them weaker, not stronger; and the ones who accepted conventional wisdom that their desirability was their greatest asset, as had been proven through years of diplomacy and relative peace for their species. Liara often couldn't find her voice to participate in their heated debates.

Lust was a more powerful controlling force than the Turian fleet, their Professor had posited. To know the true potency only comes when we understand that bi-gendered species of the world have an inherently different culture to ours. Lust is strengthened by non-attainability and when a species already wants something from you, there's already a bargaining chip at the table.

_What about love?_ One of her more romantically-minded classmates had asked.

_Not as useful,_ the Professor dismissed.

_But it's, like, the same as lust_ , the classmate responded.

_One gives you power and a voice – the other submissive and invisible. I'll let you decide which_ , the Professor replied, reminding Liara uncomfortably of Benezia.

With Shepard, Liara felt anything but invisible. She knew the Commander couldn't take her eyes from her form – no more than Liara could of the human's.

Years of reserved and careful behaviour ensured that she was able to maintain a professional veneer when their love remained unconsummated, even when their mutual interest had been established.

Even that period, the excitement of knowing the desire of another was more marvellous than anything Liara had experienced. It was all breathless anticipation and difficult restraint from there, which just heightened every moment when they would finally be together.

But after that first touch, the first kiss, the first time they made love – Liara felt herself on fire whenever in Shepard's presence. When alone, the Commander could not (nor would not want to) escape her affections. When the company of others, Liara would find a way to make the discrete touch – fingertips, brushing past her, even holding her hand aboard the shuttle on the way to yet another Geth outpost.

Didn't matter. As long as they were together.

_Love makes you weak, Liara._

After Benezia's death, Liara tried to understand why her mother would have raised her believing that so strongly.

After Shepard's death, Liara understood why.


	35. Communication

**35 – Communication**

 

 

"I cannot wait to get off this fucking ship," Aria mutters, spitting the swig of coffee back into the regulation mug and pushing it away from her with a twisted look.

It's been the expected comment at any little thing that displeases her onboard the Normandy.

Coffee. Showers. Hardness of the bed. Limited palate of the food. The people. The lack of an available space to put the people. And passing Liara on deck.

Liara doesn't venture out much, and Aria's been sulking down in the cargo bay a lot. But it seems that they have an odd magnetism whenever the two are out and about. EDI usually gives me a coded warning on comms. I believe the code is Joker's idea.

Best behaviour from both asari though. No biotics used. No fists thrown. No shots fired.

Just a snarl and _I can't wait to get off this fucking ship_.

I don't know if it's really the ship, or if it's something else. It could be Thessia, as much as Aria protests her disdain. Perhaps some other recent incident that has her forcing herself back inwards. Something like words said, exchanged, meant and expressed.

Something like love.

It's something I never expected right up until it happened. I can't get scrape it out of my brain long enough to concentrate on anything substantial. It isn't like most other relationships, where it is the key to the dam, and everything thereafter is constant affirmation, until those once elusive words become as common as a handshake.

I can't imagine that stage with Aria.

Then again, I never thought we'd be here either.

And I just wonder… if her irritation regarding everything around her is the feeling of being confined by it.

Unfortunately, I need to compound the issue and break the bad news that she'll be trapped a little while longer with me.

"It's gonna be a day later when we dock with the Citadel," I pipe up over breakfast, watching her jaw fall.

"Shepard – you've gotta be fucking kidding me!"

"This isn't passenger transport – It's a military vehicle at war, and I have both SPECTRE and N7 briefs to add to that. We can get pulled at any time."

Surprisingly, I get no further argument.

Aria's jaw sets in a hard line, chin jutting forth, as she’s subconsciously disposed to do when she's considering her actions carefully. You don't see it often. She's fond of the gut-first approach to decision making. Something we have in common. I wonder if she second-guesses her gut as much as I do mine in the hours, days and weeks after.

She visibly relaxes, and forces herself to eat the rest of the gruel that we call food.

I almost miss when she would throw that at my head and call my ship a piece of shit. Almost.

But she has been very reserved since Thessia.

Any attempts to speak about it have been swiftly shut down. Not that I'd want to bring up the Liara incident, but I know what it's like to see your homeworld in pieces.

"Where're we being diverted to?" Aria asks abruptly, looking like she's interested in the answer.

"Ontarom, Kepler Verge."

She snorts. "What for?"

"Cerberus is just reminding us that they're a thorn in our collective sides. Need to secure a key satellite array."

"Will there be violence?"

"I'm expecting nothing less."

"Violence against Cerberus," she ponders aloud.

"I'd rather that was the idea, than violence against me, like last time with me crawling out a hole in the earth and playing hide and seek with their attack heli."

"Then let me make it up to you," she offers graciously, leaning forward.

This should be interesting. "In what way?"

"Let me prove to you that I can play the dutiful soldier."

Yes sir no sir is not in your DNA and you know it. "I'm not sure—"

"Just let me hit something," she interrupts forcefully, with a strained smile. "Floating about this fucking ship like your damn fish in that tank; doing laps that barely break a sweat. And the Meat's punching bag is not cutting it."

"Meat?"

"Huge guy. Weapons hangar. Has all the muscles that contain his sense of self-worth. Hits on the Cocky guy a lot." I stare patiently at her, knowing she'll get there in the end. She knows I know, and forces out an aggravated sigh to emphasise the point. "Vega."

"Ah, Vega. Yeah, he does have a good set-up down there. Wait – he hasn't asked you to dance, has he?"

"Once or twice," Aria shrugs. "Decent spar. Lazy guard. Fractured his jaw."

"So, that explains the sudden spike in medi-gel dispenser usage with no reported injuries."

"So, I'll come with you," she decides, sloshing her terrible coffee. "To Ontarom. To kill Cerberus."

"And can I trust you with another member of my team?"

"Sure. But how about, just for fun, we make it just you and me. A date, if you like," she laughs. "Because after this, I'm back on the Citadel. And you never know. Could be a cyborg twat down there with a stupid fucking sword just awaiting me avenging your honour."

I raise an eyebrow, very slowly, very deliberately.

"Avenge my honour?"

"Not to say that you couldn't do it yourself, dear," she faux-panders with a mischievous smile and a patronising hand on my arm. "I'm all for equality for humanity. You're _very_ capable. But sometimes you need the big guns."

I snort very unattractively. So terribly gracious of my Asari overlord.

\--

"Hey, doc – Just dropping in to check our readiness in supplies. In both medi-gel and Ice Brandy, of course," I say breezily, marching through the door to the med-bay with a smile on my face and a swagger in my step. Before grinding to a halt.

It's only then that I notice the Doctor has a patient. Our other doctor. The non-medical one. And she's facing away from the door, her back exposed with Doctor Chakwas swabbing her right shoulder blade.

"Oh, hi, Liara."

That sounded forced. Far too forced.

"Shepard," Liara responds cautiously, looking gingerly over her uninjured shoulder. "Just a wound lingering from Thessia."

"We're about done," Chakwas says, sealing a bandage on Liara's back. "Yes, that's done, I'd say."

"Are you OK?" I ask.

"I will be fine in a few days," Liara says, now awkwardly clothing her bare back with several layers before she is armoured adequately enough to turn around.

The silence that falls between the three of us is one that would make you set your hair on fire for an excuse to run out of the room screaming.

"Commander, I think I'll take inventory in engineering storage. Ensure I'm getting you the most up to date numbers," Chakwas decides, her hands slapping her thighs in a show of resolution.

"Doc, you don't have to do that. Rough estimates would be fine," I say, attempting to keep a pleading tone out of my voice.

"No, no, Commander, I insist," Doctor Chakwas says, a hand in the air as she streams past me like fast flowing river just trying to get the fuck out of here before whatever could happen, may happen.

I open my mouth to countermand, but she's already out the door and likely in the elevator. No point giving orders when they can't hear you.

"How are you?" I ask finally.

Liara smiles: a little sadly, a little amused. "As I said, I will be fine in a few days. Karin always takes such good care of me."

"Couldn't fly without her," I nod.

"And you Shepard?"

"I'm fine," I shrug. "Healing well."

"You appear to have a, spring in your step, Commander?" Liara says, searching the words.

"New day. New day to _win_. Have to move forward," I gibber. It's half-truth, half-nonsense.

"Agreed," she smiles warmly. "So, where next?"

"Well, was supposed to be Citadel. But we're checking in with Alliance comms on Ontarom."

"Ground mission or recon? I have sources nearby in Kepler Verge that could provide some assistance," she offers.

"Ground. I say checking in, but we know what's happening: Cerberus," I reply, a little too casually. Like _Cerberus, those lovable rogues, what_ are _they up to now…_

Her eyes harden at the mention of Cerberus. "I can assist you."

"Nah, there's no need," I say, striving for nonchalance and probably hitting feckless.

"Shepard, I'm fine. If you need me on the ground team on this mission, I'm ready," Liara says.

"Not this mission perhaps…" I say carefully, interrupted by a frustrated exhalation from her.

"Shepard, I am fine," Liara insists. "I can help. I want to fight. We keep fighting, that's what you said."

"I did, and we will, but I've… already had a volunteer for this mission."

"Oh," she mumbles, the information filtering through her brain to percolate the implication. " _Oh_."

"Yeah. Not the best idea to have that mix of personnel again," I quip, before realising it will be several solar years before that is remotely funny. Too soon, absolutely.

" _Right_. Well, I suppose it's reasonable she does something productive while she's here," Liara mutters.

" _Liara_."

"Fine. I apologise for that remark," she says with clenched jaw, scrutinising Karin's very clean desktop.

"I didn't mean that," I sigh. "Apologising. On the scale of terrible things said…"

"Indeed," she says lightly. "I have heard much worse myself."

"So, is everything else OK?" I ask, shoving us onto a new topic to get away from the pit of despair that is that one. "Work?"

"As it ever is," she replies, the tension still visible in her jaw. "I need to take a proper look at my systems that I've thrown together from the spares."

"Tali could help," I offer. "Nothing she's better at."

"I would hope she could. What I have now really isn't sufficient. It isn't as powerful by half as my base system, and it's just not extrapolating the data I need in a reasonable timeframe," Liara says bitterly. She sounds mad, and she's making it seem like it's about the computers, but it's really not. And the mention of her base doesn't pass me by. Bet she wishes she hadn't totalled it now.

"Samantha's ready whenever you need her to co-ordinate transport – There's no rush – just wanted you to know we can make a point of it," I offer lamely. "Or there's the Citadel. We'll be docking in a few days. Always a good place to meet. Sam's really good at getting encrypted transmissions out under the radar. But you know that."

"Thank you," she says, looking down and adjusting her coat awkwardly.

"OK. Well I'll let you…" I stumble, waving my hands in the general encompassing area of the med bay and Liara, "finish."

I'm almost out of here. Managed to crowbar an escape. Until—

"Shepard – what would you think to my not going?" Liara calls anxiously.

I turn around. "Not going where?"

She looks like she's reconsidering, before taking a short breath out and setting her sights firmly on me. "Citadel. Or anywhere. If I wasn't to get off yet."

I'm not thinking with my heart. I'm not letting my emotions or my fear drive this one. It's all Commander brain. This is straight strategic decision. I don't even need my Commander brain, as it's a no-brainer.

"Of course," I say softly.

"Thank you," she says, sounding relieved. Sounding like she was genuinely afraid I might have said no. "Just until…"

"Of course," I repeat with a cough and cutting her off with a wave of the hand. "However long you want. I know you're probably needed in a hundred different places."

"And this won't cause a problem with…" Liara says hesitantly, nodding to the ceiling and the spectre of Aria.

"Not your concern," I say firmly. "It'll be good to have you back. For however long. The other guys have been trying to pick up the slack, but it's been rough."

"Is that so?" she says curiously.

"Sure – Javik can read Prothean ruins, but he's grumpy about it," I start my list in a playfully serious tone. "Tali's more tech than history – so there's no one who can dumb that stuff down to human level; Garrus can pull my ass out of the fire, but I can tell that there's a great imaginary scoreboard in the sky that I'm letting him win on and I'm really disappointed in myself for it; and EDI – she can pull together intel but the graphs aren't as pretty; and Joker can be my moral grounding—"

"Oh Goddess, that better be a joke," Liara groans

"Well, his usual advice is just to hit everything and everybody, and it hasn't failed me so far," I jest. "So maybe you're out of a job there. But none of them can throw a singularity to save my life."

"Quite a poor team you've assembled, Shepard," she sighs with a smile.

"We're too far gone to start sacking them."

"Pity," she says ruefully, enjoying the joke between us. As am I. It feels wonderful to make her laugh again.

"I don't mean to convince you to stay if you've elsewhere to be. Just needed you to know that the Normandy will always be your home."

Too much. I can tell I went too far. She visibly recoils from the playful mood she was in but moments ago.

"Thank you, Shepard," she says quietly, the focus of her attention elsewhere in this moment.

My present with Liara is a lot like our past – Ambiguous.

This I had almost forgotten. The problem. The pox. The plague upon our houses.

I try to forgive her in this awkward and stressful time. Not long ago I held her close to my breast and tried to comfort her in her most desperate hour. Now it is hard fucking work to be around each other with all of this distance in between us.

Just have to keep working at it.

\--

Battles are never easy. Victory in a firefight shouldn't be taken for granted. You can't approach the prospect of death and failure with the thinnest of margins being a bullet with your name on it.

But we had it won as soon as we saw our opponent.

Cerberus, their people and soldiers that don't even qualify as human now - It is the advancement of the husk. Or the downsizing on the human prototype reaper.

They were all people looking for a job and a way outside the Alliance, for whatever reason, to serve humanity's interests. Could have been someone decent, someone washed out from Alliance basic or, as in the case of Corporal Coleman's friend, discharged and still eager to fight. Someone who heeded my words about the Reapers and saw that the Council weren't ready to give a damn yet.

Could have been anyone. Could have been Miranda if I hadn't delicately chipped away at her company girl brain and swayed her against the Illusive Man. She was dyed in the wool Cerberus. Cerberus coloured panties. Cerberus bed spread. She believed herself the modernising and moderating force on the once (and, I suppose, emphatically still) terrorist organisation. She would not have left if she believed that she could do more, knowing what might Cerberus could wield.

They're just human skulls with Reaper tech. All that made them human is gone, and thus, all that made them a formidable fighting force.

Yes, they're strong and quick with best armour money can manufacture, advanced shield tech, and march with enough firepower to take out a Citadel ward – but they don't know how to use it. They can't improvise around a problem. They can't follow creative battlefield tactics at a Commander's whim. They can't even use their frightening superior numbers properly.

It's nothing to get over-confident about, but I knew Aria and I would handle it just fine.

Aria, disrespectfully, places her boot at the side of the head of a dead Nemesis and rolls it from her path. She surveys the damage done.

"Goddess, I needed that," she shouts through her low groan, head tipped to the heavens.

"Simple carnage," I say, approaching the central command point, completing a careful sweep of the area with my weapon out while she basks in the scene.

"Does the soul good."

"Think we 're about good to get out of here," I conclude, lowering my Paladin sidearm. This was a job well done. By both of us. As a team. Makes me wish she wouldn't leave.

"Don't call the Normandy in just yet," Aria suggests, turning away from looking out over the battlefield.

"Why wouldn't—"

"You make sure the array is functioning. I'll check the wiring below for damage," she says, waving vaguely at the central console. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what the array is, and I don't know how she expects me to check it.

However, I turn to face the console and examine everything thoroughly. I'm engaged with finding out how to turn the monitor on when she ducks below me.

I don't know what's happening until the cool air filters through my skin-tight fabric under-armour and I hear the clatter of the armour plates on the ground. She has nimbly unclipped and slid off each of my thigh plates. I have to imagine she's been down in the armoury practicing doing this blindfolded from back to front to acquire such deft technique. Custom armour plates are a tad more fiddly than bras.

"Aria, what are you doing?"

I think I know fine well what she's doing, but my brain hasn't calculated the full scenario.

She disconnects the girdle plate from my torso armour and wastes no time identifying the band at my waist. "You should really think about accessibility in the field, Shepard," she lectures, standing tall once more, her breath at the back of my ear.

"You want me to wear a skirt on mission—" I titter nervously, twisting to face her.

She stops me from turning with a sharp tug back on my hips. "Stay."

She places my arms straight in front, my hands bracing on the console.

Aria slides two fingers down either side of my hip, in between the fabric armour and my flesh, and rolls down the garment, together with my underwear.

Her nails lazily graze down my thighs, exposing me further.

I feel her weave a web of soft kisses down the edge of my buttocks, meeting in the middle for a snaking—

" _Oh!_ "

Now she turns me, wearing a hungry smirk from below.

She doesn't have to say anything. She's not asking permission. I'm not refusing it.

Aria darts her head forward to between my legs and _goddess._

I can't even describe what she's doing. There's a tongue, fingers and warm breath and I have no idea which is doing what and where. I think it's the verticality of the situation that's challenging me so, but moreover, I don't care. As long as it keeps happening, _yes…_

"Kodiak to ground. Come in, over."

So preoccupied am I, that I react to the tinny comm noise as if it was an Overload shock.

_Fuck me fuck me fuck me._

That is what Aria is doing, but that's not what my foul-mouthed refrain refers to.

"Commander, this is Cortez – do you copy? Over," it hisses again

" _Answer them,"_ she hisses, just raising her lips far enough from my sex to be heard. The breath of her words against me causes a sharp but pleasurable wave.

"I read you Cortez," I respond, with dry throat and trying to dampen the tremor in my speech.

"Can't detect weapons fire from up here. Checking in."

"Enemies down," I say, my voice cracking on the last word as Aria tortures me from below with her tongue. "Skies clear?"

"Negative on incoming bogeys. Ground looks clear, Shepard," Cortez's voice reports through my earpiece. "Ready for extraction?"

"We have almost, uh, secured the tower." Aria snorts against me, presumably amused by my terrible fibbing. "Patching in to the comms—"

I have to stop and allow myself a shallow, sharp intake of breath as Aria slips a single finger inside me. She looks up at me and though her mouth is busy at work, I can tell she's wearing a grin a frigate could drive through and not touch the sides.

"Commander?"

"Having bit of difficulty patching into the comms. Might take a bit longer," I rush out, then clamp a hand over my mouth to suppress an involuntary moan as her tongue shifts up a gear, flicking rapidly over me.

"Need me to get Normandy on long range? Give an assist?" the shuttle pilot offers.

"No – no— should be fine. Keep me posted – Shepard out," I force out, before pulling the piece out of my ear, throwing my head back and hissing.

"You did well," Aria comments. "But I really wasn't trying hard enough. Next time—"

"Next time? God, Aria, this is really reckless," I moan softly, unable to escape the submersion of feeling. Reflexively, my eyes roll back and lids flicker shut. I couldn't keep lookout if I wanted to.

"Don't worry, Shepard, I have us covered," she whispers. The sound of a gentle clash of metal against ground says to me that she has her weapon handy. I just don't know where she'll get the digits to operate it, as all feel occupied at the present moment.

She crawls up me as if I was horizontal rather than vertical; her hands gripping my limbs for leverage, her full weight pressed against me. My vacated lower half suffers from a chill due to the absence of her mouth.

She soon replaces that with her hand, quickly resuming her good works; slipping inside me, filling that which has been missing in the hollow within me.

Everything feels harder, more immediate. Like before I was reclining on a sensual boat ride down a lazy river, and now I'm being driven by gun-point to the edge of pleasure and forced to dangle from the cliff-face.

Her lower lip is caught between mine. We share the same breath. We ride the same wave.

I grip the back of her neck.

"Tell me," I urge her, the throaty vibrations of my words driving into her as her fingers drive deeper into me.

My knees buckle. She holds me up, pressing harder against me.

" _Say it_!" I demand, feeling that I will not be long for this world. I will come. I will climax. I will tighten around her and swell and scream her name. But for that I need her to _fucking say it._

I clamp a hand around her chin, gripping far too tightly as my pleasure increases. The gathering lighting forks of impending ecstasy have the edge of sharp blades – I need to come so desperately that it's starting to _hurt._

"I love you, Shepard," she growls, her nails digging into my back.

"Fuck. _Aria_ ," I utter in a voice that is at once both a whine and a guttural shout.

She moves quick and hard inside me, my increased wetness making it easy work. The deft and rapid friction makes my entrance throb in time with my heart furiously pumping blood.

Then the killer finisher. She slams deep inside me, and pulls her fingers forward to that fucking wondrous little area on my front wall - and _presses –_ while rubbing lightly and quickly on my clit. I'm on the precipice of another brain melting climax, _I know it, Ifeelit, iwantit-_

Then there is nothing. For the briefest moment that hangs in time I am in the abyss.

The thunder returns, rumbling loudly in my ears, the walls close in around me – both metaphorically and physically. The intense pressure releases in a glorious burst of –

I'm screaming. I know I am. I can't help it. I'm sure I can be heard airside. I don't care.

My hands claw at her desperately for anything to latch a hold on. I at once want her to stop – cease all activity immediately and release me from her thrall – but want to wring this out as far as my body will allow before I lose consciousness. I am powerless to stop her in my discombobulated state.

Aria is the wringing type. She won't let up. She won't free me from this delirious hell.

It's too much. It's a fucking relay jump past too much.

I collapse to my knees, snapping her hold on me. She isn't long following me down as she pulls me tightly against her as my body is wracked with aftershock.

I cling to her, feeling that she should apologise for the devastation she has wrought upon me.

She presses a charged kiss to my lips, full of so much that can't and shouldn't be said. A kiss deliberately affirming everything I think she feels.

I get it now. This is part of an apology. This has all been her kind of apology for Thessia. Behave like a good soldier on mission, to fuck me like bad girl afterwards.

Though it may not happen often, her kind of apologies are spectacular.

\--

My knees were trembling for the entire four minutes it took from extraction call to Cortez swooping in for the landing. I feel triumphant, almost godly, in that I managed to maintain an upright stance for that period, but goddess am I in dire need of a seat.

"Shepard, sit up front with me, I need to show you the new turn on the improved lift engine," Cortez invites.

I am utterly fucked. Happily so. I really couldn't care about the lift engine. But play the part, I must, until I can go for a cold shower and become a regular person again.

"Sure, Steve."

Aria has already buckled into her seat. I turn and shoot her a helpless grimace at such an inconvenience.

In return, she places her forefinger between her teeth – the very one that was inside me minutes ago – and slowly draws it into her mouth. And sucks.

She removes the finger with a discreet lip-smacking sound, and smiles. Then runs just the tip of her tongue along her top lip.

I fucking hate her.

I don't how long I've been standing watching this display, but I am aware that the majority of my parts like it very much.

Regrettably, I turn away and enter the cockpit, taking the co-pilots seat.

Steve fires up the engines and lifts us off the ground. I recline, hands folded in front of me, waiting to notice this major improvement.

It'll be fortuitous if I do. All I can concentrate on is the throbbing inside me and the space left that's missing Aria's handiwork.

"Commander," Steve starts, his voice so low that I can barely hear it over the engines.

"Kodiak's running great, Steve. Great job as always," I say, stifling a yawn, hoping that he might let me sit in the back now.

"Thanks, Commander; but that's not why I asked you up here," Cortez says, pulling us up and further away from the Communications bay. I hope this is at least mildly interesting. "Commander, I don't know how to say this…"

"Is it the Normandy? Reapers? What?" I ask, sitting upright now. He has my attention. Most of my attention. The rest is running through the nightmare list of scenarios his ambiguity has triggered.

"No, Commander. Nothing like that," he says, puffing out his cheeks. He's a curious shade of pale.

"Steve – if you don't tell me right now, I'm going to put the Kodiak into a dive," I snap.

" _Yourcommswerehot_ ," he blurts out, allowing himself the luxury of a deep exhalation.

"What?"

"Comms were hot," he repeats, not daring to take his eyes from the sky. "By that I mean _on,_ not 'hot' _._ Yours. Arias. The feed came straight through. Of the battle. And other… stuff."

"Are you—"

"You know I'm not interested right," he babbles nervously. "In you. In her. In women or asari or whatever. I'm not that kind of guy. I don't want you think I was sitting up here _enjoying_ anything or—"

I bite lip viciously to stop myself from unleashing a torrent of abuse that would raise the Leviathan from their watery depths.

"Did they – the comms – go through to the Normandy?" I ask carefully and slowly.

"No. Just here," he says with absolute confidence.

"Where here?"

"There's the computer and then the OSD backup," he points at the co-pilots console in front of me. "I erased the file on console, but not the backup, I didn't know… if you wanted it. Or what."

"What for, Steve? To play at parties?"

"Yeah, that was stupid, I can–"

He stops talking when he sees the OSD snapped in half in my hands. I would shoot it but it would be quite an overreaction to discharge my weapon on a shuttle.

"So. Yeah. Should be fine now," he breathes out.

I slouch back in my chair.

"Are you sure this didn't upload to EDI? Or make it anywhere out there?"

"No to EDI. Had she been on mission she would have been in range. And we've destroyed the files and backup, so there's nothing to uplink when we get close enough. She would have needed heavy duty material to catch that transmission."

"And hopefully a not safe for work filter," I utter, looking at the shattered OSD in my hands.

"Good one," he guffaws, before looking at my face and seeing that's the wrong sort of reaction right now.

"Steve. I'm sure this goes without saying, but—"

"I'm telling absolutely no one," he nods affirmatively. "I'm your shuttle pilot. You can trust me. What happens on the ground, stays on the ground."

"Thank you," I sigh, settling in for the short ascent.

Can't even have an inappropriate orgasm without causing a minor incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - really didn't want to do a pathetic 'Hey look an updated chapter' note after another horrendous gap in posting, but here I am. Mostly just to say that I really struggled with this one, got disheartened and consequently sodded off to other things rather than plowing through like a grown-up... (Actually, tried to write a FemShep/Sara Ryder fic set pre ME1 for fun until I realised there were too many non-canon compliant crutches to bear so that went in the psychological rubbish bin. For now...) Also to say thank you to all who continued to read and comment, and give me wee nudges to let me know that you're still interested. It is appreciated hugely.  
> Edit - Chapter edited 2/9/17 to undo my asari anatomy flub, as kindly highlighted by Abada on ff.net. Thank you :)


	36. Interlude - Unspoken Vows

**Interlude – Unspoken Vows**

 

 

I promised her. Strictly, it was an unspoken covenant on my part with Admiral Hackett, with whom I started working some months ago, and whom was unaware of the access I had into Alliance Military systems. I took it on myself to isolate that source from my information-gathering networks as a show of good faith that the Admiral neither knew he wanted, nor now had.

However, I later told Shepard of this unilateral arrangement and it became another promise to her. She didn’t need to know. She caught me exhausted, in the midst of trying to save refugee ships that I knew from other sources had likely been obliterated by Reaper cannon before breaking atmos. I refused to accept it. Made it more difficult as each of my tender-class ships came back empty.

I’m aware that I’m a little more porous when I’m raw, and the matter of my cutting off the Broker’s Alliance access just slipped out. This disclosure likely didn’t make her think any better of me – our later argument would demonstrate her deep distrust of both my resources and my intentions. However, I’m quite certain that on that night, as I caught her in an obvious lie, that she barely thought on it at all.

I try not to hold onto how I felt that night, of all the nights before or since, but the memory is so vivid that it is difficult not to find myself back there. If it was possible for one’s organs to fall to the floor, I’m certain mine would have.

I never had to feel like this in the decades I spent alone in the ruins.

Catching her on deck – that was not intentional on my part. I have no backdoor into the ships feeds, as promised. It was sheer misfortune.

Shepard - this woman that I have loved, that I have held: clutching a hideous asari coat around her shoulders, attempting to conceal the date dress that I knew to be beneath, just as she was when she left the Normandy hours before; attempting to conceal the scent of fluids on her skin and the flush of passion on her cheeks with willpower and the misdirection magic of small talk alone.

I knew where she was. Who she was with. What she was doing.

I knew that this was us truly over, for her.

I also knew it wasn’t the first time, which means it wasn’t a mistake.

It is a professional flaw of mine as an ( _the_ ) information broker that I regret to say that I don’t know when and how it began. The obvious answer is Omega. While she wasn’t quite right when she came back, I don’t think Aria truly had the Commander in her clutches then. After then, there are a number of spike points in the data: the dock inspection that never was, for one. Aria’s boast of the implant malfunction is another; and I remember the night she went out with Vega a few days before the operation on Cyone when the malfunction surfaced. I heard the rumours of Purgatory and I could get access to the vid-feed to confirm, but I can’t think of anything I want to see less.

I should stop investigating, even in my own mind, because I know it is driving me mad. It doesn’t matter, really doesn’t matter. Not months down the line when it’s long over, I’ve been gone, and Aria’s moved into, first: my cabin on the Normandy, and second: the Commander’s quarters. It’s far past a fling of war. That assessment would be an optimistic.

How I rode this train of thought from the Shadow Broker’s promise to Hackett to here, I don’t know. Regardless, the point is that while I have no means of infiltration into the Normandy’s systems or feeds, I do have access to the dock feeds at the Citadel, which I think is perfectly fair. Presently, the Citadel dock feeds show the Normandy’s port side exterior. The solid lights around the door tell me the airlock release is initialising.

The light flashes steadily and the airlock doors part. Aria T’Loak strides out from within, a duffel bag in one hand. She’s moving just a little faster than I can switch cameras, but I catch up with her just in time to see her hand the bag off to Bray, who is waiting just inside the docking bay access doors to the Citadel. As he turns to follow her, the doors slide shut and my view is obscured.

Another feed, this one in the passenger lounge of Bay D24. Aria barely pauses. Bray works hard to keep up. The next vid-link at Security: She breezes through the checkpoint barely breaking step, with hardly a glance from the officers. How she does that and how deep she has Tevos in her pocket, I’m not clear on yet. Bray catches up to her to direct her to their waiting skycar on the bridge. They both get inside, the roof mechanism encloses them in the vehicle, and they accelerate rapidly at an acute vertical angle.

I could follow her down the rabbit hole – chase her from camera to camera along the skycar flyways, but I don’t know if I want to see where that goes.

That is a lie. I do. Of course, I do.

I switch instead to the docking bay view of the Normandy to see if she’s being followed. Lieutenant Cortez emerges to meet the salarian port master, who is waiting, datapad in hand, ready to go through the standard checking procedure. I see the Lieutenant ready to play the SPECTRE card, as he tilts his own datapad to show the clearance ident.

It doesn’t look like Shepard came out. Not that she would for a dock check.

I could be reading it all wrong, certainly, but I have my suspicions that they could be parting on acrimonious terms. My suspicions are not founded upon hard data – again, endeavouring to uphold my word – but the gossip amongst my crew mates. It has been no secret that Aria wanted off this ship weeks ago.

Considering what I know of the history, I doubt that any disagreement had prior to arrival at the Citadel would be fatal. Likely resolved as par for the course. I imagine Shepard will go out tonight for a “walk”.

_Stop it, Liara._

I want so badly to listen to that voice, but it takes a fortification of willpower – and terabytes worth of a distraction. Even while tracking the movements outside of the ship, I’m working on the other console to co-ordinate what relief efforts I can. Many of my sources have found themselves promoted to field operatives – but instead of the traditional Broker assignments of wet work and undercover corporate espionage, they’ve become aid workers, evac shuttle pilots, and safehouse guardians. I do wonder if they still think that I am the same Broker the Yahg was; perhaps his priorities would have changed in wartime. I do doubt the extent of his possible benevolence as his move when faced with the Reaper threat was to negotiate with the Collectors for the preservation of his own life in exchange for that of Shepard’s.

I would like to speak to my father. I know she’s been desperate for me to get back to the Citadel since the fall of Thessia. I imagine that she would take up her post as spymaster once more, tailing my every move – wholly for her own benefit this time, rather than the Matriarchs. I haven’t told Aethyta my intent to stay with the Normandy, for as long as she may need me. By _she_ , I mean both the ship and Shepard.

That decision is probably best imparted over comms where Aethyta can shout, but I have a mute button. However, if we are staying on the Citadel for a night or two before we move on, I must make the point of seeing my father.

“Glyph – Call my father – Matriarch Aethyta, please,” I direct the VI, head bowed.

“Right away, Dr T’Soni.”

I drag forward my chair and ease down onto it, directly in front of the screen. I feel that I may need a seat for this.

“Liara – You’re alive,” Aethyta booms out, her face looking decidedly unworried stretched across the screens in front of me. “Thanks for fuckin’ tell me so.”

“I sent you a message after Thessia,” I mumble, sinking down. I must try to look and sound less like a scolded child. To that end, I straighten my back, give her direct eye contact, and clear my throat. “I am fine. No need to overreact.”

“You’re floating out there in the middle of a war zone, and not hearing from you in days makes me think the worst. They can barely count the bodies, never mind identify them.”

Overdramatic as usual.

“I’m in dock at the Citadel, as a matter of fact.”

“Which one? I’ll come get you,” she says, forcing herself to sit still enough to listen for the answer; barely restraining herself from getting her coat and being half-way out of the door.

“D24, but—”

“D24’s the Alliance dock,” she says, leaning stiffly backwards, her chin jutting forward. She is already disapproving of the situation.

“I am on an Alliance ship,” I respond simply.

“Are you on the fucking _Normandy_ , Liara?” Aethyta asks incredulously, getting to her feet to fidget and pace. “Stupid, _stupid_ kid.”

“I should have just stayed on Thessia while it was crumbling and caught a ride with the next ship intact that came along, should I?” I challenge hotly.

“You could have done better than getting on the Normandy again!” she says impulsively.

“No. I couldn’t,” I say, hoping that my resolute tone conveys that it is the final word I will have on the matter.

She throws her hands up in disgust, sits down again, and slaps her palms on her thighs.

“There any trouble?” she asks, trying to control her volume. If she doesn’t, I’ll need to lower it on my end.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

She squints at me. “I heard T’Loak’s on-board.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I repeat.

While I think that my father (with all of her experience and much vaunted krogan blood) could have some useful insight into my behaviour on Thessia, I haven’t reconciled my own thoughts on the matter. On one side, I know that I was deliberately provoked; on the other, I know that it does not excuse my actions. I also must accept that there is a not insignificant part of me that seized on the provocation for the satisfaction of my own revenge.

I also do not want to discuss that provocation with my father – namely the insults and allegations hurled at both parents – because I do not think Aria was lying as regards her dalliance with Aethyta.

“Right,” she says, begrudgingly accepting that. “So how was everything else? I know Thessia’s done, I’ve seen the vids, but did you get what you were down there for?”

In a way. Not really. More than I asked for, I suppose.

“Benezia… my mother. Lied to me.”

“About what?”

“Our history. The Protheans. Athame. The Temple. The beacon. ”

Aethyta knows what I am talking about. She sighs and nods.

“They all lied. The great Matriarchal conspiracy of the ages,” Aethyta agrees. “But that was high code level clearance shit. She couldn’t just tell anybody. Not even her daughter. One thing that Nezzy was above all else was a stateswoman, and serious about it.”

I wonder how high ‘mother’ ranks on that list.

“To watch me enter academia, so focused on the Protheans… devoting decades of my maidenhood to the pursuit of the answers that were with us the entire time… To put it generously, she must have found it an amusing waste of time,” I say, that bitter taste of betrayal and disappointment on my tongue again.

“I doubt it, Liara. Your mother was your biggest fan. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she thought you’d bring it all crashing down. She knew how clever you are, like her; and that rebellious streak you got from me – perfect recipe to blow it wide open.”

I like Aethyta’s version, but I don’t know if the truth of it sits right with me. I could choose to prefer that version; I’d certainly feel more at peace with it and the memory of my mother I’ve struggled to retain.

“I know there’s more you’re not telling me, kid,” Aethyta says, her voice trying to comfort me. “And I don’t even wanna get into the Shepard situation over vid-call. You’re in dock, when you want me to come bring you home?”

In another universe, in a different galaxy where Aethyta had not left my mother and Benezia had not left her in turn, I imagine that my father would have met me from lessons and walked me home every day. My mother rarely did. She worked. She had a minder to pick up her daughter. I don’t blame her for it, but I do envisage that I would have had a great stay-at-home dad had they not separated.

“I’m not coming back to yours.”

“You hopping transport back to wherever you were before Thessia? I kinda hoped you wouldn’t be putting yourself out there after this.”

“It’s everywhere. It’s a galaxy extinction level event,” I say irascibly.

“I know, but it’s good to be with family. And I know how much you can do behind a screen.”

I brace for impact. “I can’t just watch behind a screen anymore. Actually, I’m staying on the Normandy, for the foreseeable future.”

She looks like she could scream; like she could put a fist in her mouth, bite down hard and shriek obscenities into the wound. The blue of her skin darkens to a midnight navy colour. She can barely sit still in her seat.

Sometimes I look at my father and wonder how she is nearly a thousand years old.

“Liara, what is it you think you’ve done in your life that makes you such a glutton for punishment – That makes you think you deserve to be on that ship, in that situation, with those people—”

I cut her off before something bursts.

“It’s my decision. The Normandy is where I need to be. It’s where I can be needed. This is where we win the war, Aethyta.” I take a hard line to back her down. “I’ve never stopped believing in Shepard, and I need to show that now.”

“You need to show—?! Liara, you don’t have—”

I cut her off again. “The decision is made. I am sure you know me well enough that you can’t shout me down from this.”

I can see all that rage and worry internalise within her as she tries to approach from another angle.

“Can we at least talk about it face to face? You’re a sky-cab ride away. I’ll take you for decent food. That human military crap has you looking pastier that a Quarian without the suit.”

“I don’t know if I have time,” I confess, checking the ship-wide comms-to-text log in case there have been any crew announcements about departure or otherwise since I’ve been on-call to Aethyta. Nothing from the bridge. Not even a limited shore release window. “We may be leaving soon. Or we could be ashore for a time. I really don’t know.”

“Shepard should get her finger out her ass and either point at a star, or press the goddess-damned airlock button,” Aethyta says. I would say that the message was conveyed under her breath, but I heard every word in crisp detail.

“Joker may know the position – the Normandy’s pilot. I’ll check in with him, and call back you to make arrangements to meet, if we can,” I decide.

“Alternatively, you could just get off right now and to Hell with the Normandy,” Aethyta shrugs irritably.

“I think we both know that is unlikely,” I say with a consolatory smile, my hand hovering over the disconnect symbol. “I will call you back.”

“Better speak to you soon, Liara,” Aethyta says, trying not to grumble. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” I return, swiping the call away. I barely let myself take a breath from the call before the next. I tap the audio-only intercom function on my omni-tool. “Liara to bridge.”

 “Liara! What can I do you for? Massimo burger and shake? Drive to the next window and I’ll get that right to ya,” Joker says, his voice booming through the speakers overhead.

“Joker, has there been indication how long we’ll be in dock for?”

“Negatory, Liara,” he says, barely supressing a sigh. “In the dark here.”

“Figuratively speaking,” EDI adds her voice to the channel. “There are no current system or lighting malfunctions on the bridge.”

“Yeah, she got that,” Joker groans. “Liara, you’re about the hundredth person to ask me that today, which is amazing, cause there’s only like fifty people on board.”

“Jeff, the Normandy has—”

“EDI if you’re about to break down the crew roster for me then you’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” Jeff says wearily. From the muffle in his voice I can imagine him holding his face in his hands.

EDI doesn’t carve out time to respond to Jeff’s threat. “Hello, Shepard.”

“Commander—”

It’s doesn’t take a Shadow Broker to surmise that Shepard has come onto the bridge.

 “Joker – all crew aboard?”

I can still hear them through the comms. It appears that Joker has left the channel open. That’s accidental. That can’t qualify as spying.

She sounds terse.

“Aye, aye Commander.”

“Ship aweigh.”

“Aye, aye.” There is a hesitant pause. “Commander?”

“Yeah?” Her voice sounds farther away; she was mid-exit, I imagine.

“Where are we going to? I got no new destination. I mean, I can get us outta dock and queue up at the relay, but some asshole’s gonna dink us for holding everybody up and—”

“I believe what Jeff is trying to ascertain is what is our next move is in order to plot the optimal—” EDI starts before Joker cuts her off.

“Sort of something like that, Commander, but I’m not trying to undermine your authority or whatever – just thought I was out of the loop or something,” Joker utters at speed. He appears to be managing a modicum of tact, which indicates to me that Shepard’s demeanour shows her not to be messed with at this juncture.

Joker’s right, though. Floating off into space has never been Shepard’s modus operandi, she’s always had a plan. She must want to get moving, even if it is to nowhere.

“It’s not just you out of the loop, Joker,” Shepard says steadily. “I don’t have anything else for us. It’s Cerberus or bust at this point. Is it too much to hope for that Cerberus has been so kind as to mark out their super-secret location with a big red arrow floating out in the black?”

“It is unlikely,” EDI admits.

“Figures.”

“I’d rather bust Cerberus,” Joker says. “In their face. In their meta-human robot faces. No offence, EDI.”

 “Joker – call everyone together in the war room. Tell them to gather their best intel, leads, hunches – generally anything written on the back of bathroom doors in Purgatory or wacky conspiracy theories on the extranet, because we are going after Cerberus.”

She sounds more focused now. Her last word is definitive, and I am guessing that following which she left the bridge for EDI and Joker to give effect to her orders.

“All right EDI, ping the crew, aaaand, oh shit, comms were hot – Liara, you still there?”

“I thought you’d forgotten about me,” I say lightly.

“Did you hear that? I’m assuming you heard that. Shepard wants everyone in the war room ASAP. Hope you’ve got something about Cerberus tucked away for a rainy day, cause the Commander wants it all hanging out.”

“Thanks, Joker,” I say, disconnecting the call before EDI checks him on semantics and the conversation cycles back around. It can be adorable, but I have archives to plunder.

\--

“What’s scuttlebutt? We moving out? Hanging around? What?” James says, announcing his presence to the others gathered in the war room. I follow close behind him, and it’s a testament to his muscular figure that I can only determine who is here from the sound of their voice.

“If we knew we wouldn’t in here,” Ashley says, her eyes darting to me when I emerge from James’s shadow.

It is there every time. That look she gives me. How she changes.

I know that Lieutenant Commander Williams associates me with Kaiden Alenko’s death. Her demeanour shifts every time she notes my presence. I know she and Kaiden grew close, and it appears from comm logs from the Shadow Broker archives that it was due to somewhat of a siege mentality on Ashley’s part. All of these aliens on Shepard’s squad (apparently completely discounting the rest of the ship’s crew being human military), the Normandy and what it meant to serve the Alliance transformed… and she sought refuge with her kind.

I know she knows about the confrontation, for want of a better term, between Kaiden, Shepard and myself in the comms room. I didn’t need to view the log of Kaiden reciting the entire conversation to Ashley – I remember it well enough myself.

I even remember what went unsaid. I remember thinking of the most gracious and well-meaning words to say to make this situation easier for Shepard and put Kaiden at ease. In light of Kaiden’s conviction that it was, in fact, he and Shepard who shared a romantic connection, I had assumed that what had been going on between Shepard and myself was an after-effect from the joining to decipher the prothean beacon; or perhaps it was her fascination was with the Asari species that had her return to my door in the back of the med-bay, and not an attraction to me personally. Everything that had gone before could have been explained away – I was so _green,_ so to speak, I really couldn’t positively identify flirtation if I had it under a microscope. I kept any hope that I harboured in strict check with a healthy dose of realism; then quashed it further with an unhealthy prescription of self-doubt, inexperience and romantic ineptitude.

But she picked me. It was Kaiden who had been mistaken. He had taken kind words for romantic interest where there was none. Shepard was really quite absolute in that point.

You oft hear it said that there is no more dangerous animal than a humiliated man. Kaiden certainly seemed more than bruised as he left that night. He barely looked at me afterwards. This was not how it was supposed to be in his mind.

I heard exactly what he thought of me later, on file n-sr1-cam218-audio394746.dat.

I resisted the SR-1 files for as long as I was able. When I came across the directory I did my utmost to restrain myself, and I did. For a few months at least.

It’s a strange thing. You mustn’t speak ill of the dead, I hear the earth idiom goes, but what when they speak ill of you?

Commendably, he appeared to behave professionally the morning after that night in the comms room. Privately, he was convinced that my “Asari wiles” had entranced Shepard and enticed her away from his grasp. He was convinced that it surely couldn’t have been one-sided between them, but now he was made to feel like the fool. Ashley supported him by reinforcing everything he believed. He didn’t speak about it at length after that one occasion, but privately, references were made between the two of them. I recall the unease I felt when back on the SR-1 when I was with either of the two of them. I eschewed most social contact admittedly, but whenever I was with them, I couldn’t shake the feeling that their indifference masked something worse. If you weren’t very popular growing up, as I wasn’t, then it’s a feeling well known from my formative years.

Then Virmire happened. Shepard had to make a choice, and she chose Ashley.

I imagine that in Ashley’s mind that if Shepard and Kaiden had been involved then Shepard would have surely chosen him. The reason that they weren’t was the interloper - the daughter of an alien terrorist that should have never been on the Normandy in the first place. Blaming me helps her alleviate her own survivor’s guilt. She confessed as much in an email to her sister once.

Neither of us are to blame. Shepard made an impossible choice forced upon her by circumstance.

And every time – no matter how many years have passed, and how many times we’ve covered each other in the field – when Ashley looks at me like she is now, all of this comes flooding unmercifully back and I feel like the pureblood alien freak, being carefully tormented by my betters.

I pull my focus onto the rest of the room. The rest of the team crowds around the central console, all present and waiting patiently. It appears that James and I were the last to arrive – bar Shepard, who still is not with us.

Samantha gives a small smile. I wonder if that’s residual guilt from having sexual relations with my ex not long after our end, and while I was just decks below on the Normandy, or if it’s just her congenial nature.

The latter I imagine. In truth she should harbour no guilt. Who could blame someone for pursuing Shepard?

The woman herself arrives.

She doesn’t look heartbroken, or maligned, or distracted by whatever came to pass against Aria.

She is furious.

Everyone else can sense it too as they stand up straighter – the rage is seeping through her pores.

“We need our next move. We’ve lost the Prothean data. We’ve lost our lead on the Catalyst. They have it. I’m sick of Cerberus beating us to the punch,” she snarls, slapping her open palms firmly down on the war console dashboard.

“Let’s kick them in the balls first for a change,” James supports Shepard, breaking the stillness of this uncharacteristically silent team.

“I’m with James,” Shepard says, pulling her hands together in a brisk clap to bring everyone’s focus to her and the problem at hand. “Anyone know where they’re hiding? Anyone?”

“Um,” Traynor eases in, looking nervously around the group. She doesn’t think that whatever she has to say is worth it. She doesn’t believe she should be standing here with the rest of us. Shepard looks hopefully at her. Shepard believes in her. That should be enough to give her voice. “Well. There is something.”

“Let’s hear it, Traynor,” Shepard welcomes enthusiastically, waving her hands more than need be.

Samantha manipulates the galaxy holo chart in the middle of us all, a path highlighted across the breadth of it.

“I was able to track Kai Leng’s shuttle through the relay and extrapolate his destination,” she gestures to the route mapped out. “But the signal disappeared in the Iera system.”

“Naturally,” Shepard nods with a grimace. I can tell she’s trying to shield her aggravation from view, but as so often with Shepard trying to hide her emotions, she fails.

“It’s not just gone, though, the signal is being actively blocked,” Traynor says curiously, still tracing the lines.

“How?” Shepard says, pushing Traynor further. The way Shepard is looking at her now – with such faith and affection – I can’t help but wonder if it is purely on a professional level. While all accounts confirm that they ended some time ago, feelings can linger.

 “I’m not sure, but something is interfering with all signal activity in that region of space,” Traynor says, her forehead creased as she stares at the holo map.

“Commander. The Iera system is home to Sanctuary and little else. Sanctuary is a supposed safe haven for war refugees,” EDI says, supplying the necessary background data.

Shepard is eager for more. “You think it’s worth checking out Traynor?”

“Yes ma’am, I do,” she nods, letting herself declare her hunch with authority.

“If Specialist Traynor hadn’t examined the data so astutely the interference would have been undetectable,” EDI opines.

Like any good information broker, I can identify the unobvious source of rumour and gossip in most places – and on the Normandy that source happens to be Tali’Zorah. She told me of Traynor’s crush on EDI and I am sure that I did not imagine a swoon when EDI complimented her professionalism and dedication. Such tangled webs we weave.

“Nice work Traynor,” Shepard beams, directing at her a grateful nod. “You’ve given us a shot. Let’s make sure we don’t waste it.”

“I was stationed on Horizon in Iera system. You were the only Cerberus presence while I was there,” Ashley says dispassionately. With these words, I don’t know if Ashley intends to wound Shepard with the reminder of her past alliances, or if she is trying to ground the sudden surge of optimism in the group.

Shepard takes it as well as she can. Her jaw forms a hard line and her lips purse together. She’s trying not to retaliate in kind.

I set my mind to the task in hand, casting an eye over the proposed co-ordinates and comparing Traynor’s data with my own.

“It’s a slim lead. Let’s hope it’s the right one,” I say cautiously, giving a definitive nod at the end of my calculations. All data would indicate that Traynor may be correct.

When my eyes meet Shepard’s, I note she’s regarding my caution somewhat suspiciously. She knows I’ve never been the blind cheerleader, nor one to tell her what she wants to hear. I’ve always been the one to query the data and to make the plan; or propose the alternative or wild theory that no one wants to hear. I hope she remembers that of me, and that I would not reserve my enthusiasm because of personal difficulties.

“I don’t care how slim the leads are at this point. We’ve come too far to let Cerberus stop us. I want that Prothean data. I want the Catalyst,” Shepard says definitively, casting a glance around at each and every member of the team. The look says _We are damn well doing this._ “No excuses. Dismissed.”

I watch as the crew files out: their collective gaits a little stronger, their heads a little higher. We have something to drive towards. Shepard has pulled us up from pit and pushed us to keep going. They are all with her.

Her back is to me as she connects to the bridge intercom via her omni-tool.

“Joker – plot a course for Iera System, Shadow Sea cluster, Horizon,” Shepard announces, her chin raised.

“You got it, Commander,” comes his enthused response over intercom. “On our way.”

I am not sure if she can see me, or if she’s aware that I’m here. She used to say that she was always aware of where I was around her – be it in battle or on deck.

As her head tilts to the side, I am still not in her eyeline, but she knows I am here now.

I have to speak. I have to tell her.

It is obvious that I am waiting to speak to her, as I am engaged in nothing else. If I wanted to buy myself more time I could have brought up my omni-tool or occupied myself on a nearby console. It is too late for masking my intentions now without being completely transparent.

“Shepard, there’s a matter I want to discuss.”

She turns to face me now, sliding her omni-tool screen down from view to give me her focus.

“Is it Cerberus?”

I almost would that it was.

“No, nothing to do with this. It’s not urgent,” I say quietly, looking at the crew staffed at post around the war room and reconsidering the forum for such a confession. “But it is best discussed in private.”

“Sure,” she nods. Shepard has many indicators to betray her feelings, but none are presenting. “How about you come up to my cabin whenever suits?”

I know that I have a considerable amount of work to do, bearing in mind that I allowed a not-insignificant portion of my time to be swallowed by looking at Aria T’Loak on vid-link. I check my omni-tool to confirm my commitments. “I have a call scheduled shortly. A few hours?”

Shepard smiles tightly. She does not seem comfortable with the notion. “Sure.”

I must tell her. Tonight.

I vowed - no more spying, no more secrets. This was a separate promise I silently made to Shepard, and one I intend to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words and kudos. You guys really keep me going :)


End file.
